Sweet Sweden

When we flew in to Stockholm two weeks ago, our plane was coming from Vienna, so we were flying due north, straight up the east coast of Sweden. I was very lucky that day; I had the good fortune of being seated by the window, and the skies were clear blue. My first view of Sweden was an excellent one.

Sometimes I think that travelling as much as I have this year has made me less appreciative of the things I see. You see one glacier, you've seen them all. You hear one funny accent, you've heard them all. It's not that you don't enjoy the nuances of the country you're visiting, but you have less of the culture-shocked-wow-everything-is-soooo-different-than-home feeling.

However, as we made our final descent into Sweden that day, I was just postively drooling over the watery landscape below me. "I don't think I've ever seen anything like this!" I kept saying to Bjorn. "I mean, seriously!" When you see other coastlines, there's a pretty definitely line drawn between water and land, but the east coast of Sweden is a bizarre mix of water and land. There is really no definite coast at all, in fact. Inland, there are huge, sprawling lakes, and as your eye moves farther out towards the sea, the land just sort of starts to disintegrate. Hundreds of tiny islands break off into the ocean, scattering pieces of brown and green and gold throughout the blue. Looking at the land of Sweden from the sky, it's impossible to convince yourself that it really is land at all. Water, water, everywhere.

Bjorn grew up in the country, about 15 minutes outside of a town called Strangnas, population 22,000. Strangnas is located about an hour west of Stockholm, and is situated on a sort of peninsula that juts out into the huge Lake Malaren. Bjorn's father lives in the house Bjorn grew up in, a charming ranch-style house, built in the traditional Swedish style - wooden siding, painted red, with white trim on the shutters. I thought perhaps that this style was something of a stereotype of Sweden, but in fact, practically all of the houses in the country are like this.

The land is incredibly flat in this part of the country, and when we drive from Bjorn's mother Siv's flat, in the town of Strangnas proper, out to his father Rolf's, I always feel like I might as well be in Iowa or Wisconsin. I've never been to either of those places, but I'm pretty sure they look Sweden. Field after field of deep green, spotted with these gorgeous red houses.

The only thing that reminds you that you're in Sweden is the churches. Magnificent brick cathedrals, remnants of the 13th and 14th century are everywhere. The main church in Strangnas was built in 1250. How crazy is that! Right in the middle of this tiny town is a giant relic. We actually attended mass there on Sunday, and since the service was in Swedish and my mind was in lala land, I constantly found myself gazing up at the magnificent ceilings, painted with sprawling Bible scenes, and marvelling at the mass of the red brick pillars holding the whole place up. How did they do this in 1250!? However it was done, I think it's so wonderful to have something like this - something that has been the center of your town for its entire existence. Something that you can be certain that your great, great, great, great, great grandparents saw. Some reminder of the past.

Bjorn is the second of three boys. He has an older brother, Johan (pronounced Yowahn), who is 28, and a younger brother, Tomas, who is 20. Johan has just finished his second year of university, studying political science, in a town about four hours south of here, and Tomas is working at a retirement home in Strangnas and trying to get himself accepted into medical school to start in the fall. (They roll the bachelor's degree in the actual MD together into one long program here.)

Bjorn's parents have been incredibly welcoming and accpeting of me. Bjorn's mother speaks very good English, and though his father's is a bit rusty, he tries very hard, which I appreciate. I cannot imagine trying to get to know them without being able to communicate at all. I have felt right at home, in both of their homes, from day one. Bjorn's mother, Siv, is about the sweetest woman I've ever met, incredibly doting on both Bjorn and I. She is a dental hygenist in Strangnas, and has a little bike that she rides to work on nice days. Bjorn's dad, Rolf, is an electrician, and his best friend is Douglass, the crazy Labrador-Jack Russell mix of a dog who rules the roost out there in the country.

Bjorn's paternal grandparents, Borge (pronounced Bore-yeh) and Ella live on the same piece of land as his dad, and they, on the other hand, speak no English. We have had many meetings with them (they have a way of wanderng into the house without knocking quite a lot), and though I can tell they like me, we cannot communicate without Bjorn. They seem to have no real understanding of the fact that I don't speak Sweidsh, though, and always just start talking at me, looking at me very intensely, wondering why I don't immediately respond to them. The Swedish names for grandfather and grandmother are farfar and farmor, which I think is just the greatest thing ever. Farfar has even told me that I can call him farfar, which makes me so happy. FARFAR!

Farfar is quite a character. He's 86, and he always gets right up in my face, as if to tell me something very important. He's constantly warning me about Swedish men and begging me to sing something for him (since Bjorn informed him that I could sing - Bjorn!). There's an old wood-working shed on the property, which has been around since the 1700s, I believe. Last week farfar took me on a tour of the shed, and we must have stayed in there for an hour, as he picked up practically every little thing in there and explained to me how it worked.

Farfar and farmor regularly invite us over for "fica", a Swedish tradition I have grown very fond of. Fica is something like afternoon tea - everyone gathers around 4 PM for coffee and cinnamon rolls or cookies or cake. It isn't exactly a formal affair, but it does feel a bit like a fourth meal. Plates are set around the table and everyone is expected to sit and eat and chat for about an hour. Bjorn and I, along with Johan and his girlfriend Sofia (who were up visiting for a few days) went down to fica with farfar and farmor the other day, and I was FORCED (forced! I am serious) into eating a cinnamon roll, a piece of chocolate cake with homemade whipping cream, and several pieces of chocolate candy. Farfar, I can eat no more! But the box of chocolates just came around again. It was quite funny. And everytime we go to farfar and farmor's, they are constantly walking around the house, picking up old photos and knick-knacks, and bringing them over to tell me about them. No matter that farfar showed me his 1986 fishing championship trophy the day before! I will get to see it again! It's incredibly endearing.

So, despite the fact that Sweden does not seem to want me to stay here and work, I have been taken very good care of by Bjorn and his family and am enjoying myself very much. We have spent the greater part of the last two weeks focused on my job search, and while I still have nothing positive to say about that, I am pushing forward! It is becoming more clear that getting a work permit here is going to be impossible for me, so I am trying to think through my options.

But I promised Bjorn I would write my blog today and not get bogged down in job searching, so I will not go into that any further!

I hope everyone is well. I will post some new pictures soon...

Much love to you all!