Up to the cool reaches…

Sitting beside this open window on the 6th floor of my high rise student dormitory, it’s hard to physically recall the chest-compressing heat of home. The inescapable sauna that oppresses the mind and drains energy like a nickel sized hole in a pail of water. It’s not something you’d expect to miss. Yet now that I’m in Sweden and the highest temperature of the past 4 days hasn’t exceeded 76°C, I subconsciously wonder to where all that heat has run off.

I wish I could start this blog with some bombastic monologue over the depths of mental ambiguity associated with transatlantic travel BUT I’d rather continue on with a more sensual delivery (as in related to the five senses).

I arrived in Sweden after a long and tedious flight to London and a short puddle jumper to Stockholm, stepped out of the terminal, and faced a strong, warm wind. Refreshing without being chilling (a factor I believe will change soon enough), winds here seem to come from every direction, which makes biking problematic. With my big boxed bike (which managed to nibble its way out of the box – only partially) and my pink suitcase, a gift of my grandma, I had a happy reunion with Carl outside of customs.* From there we boarded a bus and got ourselves to Uppsala.

One of the things that had worried me was how the bike would survive such a journey: mom and I had taken off the front wheel and shoved the whole thing in a regulation sized box with just a handful of bubble wrap minutes before departure. Besides the giant hole from my ravenous wheel hub, it survived quite nicely. Carl and I pieced it together on the curb after about 10 minutes of work (under the watchful stares of a handful of Swedes). Now my beautiful red, magnum beast is fit for travel! She’s already seen a few miles of Sweden and so far it’s like a slice of chocolate raspberry cheesecake.

I’ll just do a few highlights of the past days here. Carl helped me acquire a Swedish SIM card for my phone. Along with shopping for various amenities, I’ve been enjoying the cool night air of Flogsta and running to town on my bike.

Today was a day of many things. The illusive juggler finally made an appearance today in the front lawn of one of the other buildings. I grabbed my balls and quick ran out the door (…yes) to juggle for a good hour or so. Marcus is the name and he got me going on the next step in partner juggling as well as the toss behind the back trick. He’s pretty much a master and I hate him. Haha No, no. But he got me some information about a circus club that meets near the main station. Soon I’ll be learning to juggle while people practice contorting and eating fire. And whatnot. It sounds like good times!

After that, Carl and I went out for a walk. But like many things in Sweden, you can’t go out the door fully expecting the obvious. We stopped at the nearby playground and came upon a friend from the corridor, Alex, and another Swede named Emil. The two then worked out using the various ropes and wood structures meant for kiddies. Emil kept asking me to go try (as he proceeded to do about a million push-ups UPSIDE DOWN from a rope net. I declined politely. The final session of the workout was carrying each other up seven flights of stairs, which smacked of this sport recently brought to my attention: Finnish Wife Carrying Championships. Who could pass up the opportunity? I can hold my head high and say that I’ve been hitched up seven flights of stairs twice – by two Swedes. Carl did it once and Emil second. It’s not the first choice I’d have taken at getting to know someone better. But it works in its own sweaty, jostling way. (and when the boys are quite handsome)

Later we all met in the sauna on the 7th floor. I’ve never participated in the European sauna-culture before and it wasn’t as bad as my hyped up fears of hot, closed spaces. We boiled in the sauna talking about things and nonsense (nonsense being whatever I missed in the Swedish exchanges) for about 15 minutes before sprinting to the bathroom to fill balloons with water. The rest of that story is easy to summarize: cold Swedish evening, half-naked people, a roof, and water balloons. Plus several unhappy pedestrians and bikers. We got ourselves good and cold before heading back to the sauna. Repeat said procedure twice or thrice for good time.

The following day I stood in a long line to acquire my temporary student ID card as well as a few shopping adventures to pick up the last odds and ends. The city is packed with many other young people doing just the same. New students are moving into the corridor every day.

Here’s the runup:
Iranian Couple
Italian Dude
Australian Chick
4 Swedes
Indian Dude
…and me, the American.

And everyone has friends so we’ve been inundated by Italians and Indians. It’s quite fun and makes for an interesting mix. Still two or three rooms to fill…

Almost up to date now: Yesterday I went with Alex, the Swede, to Ikea for my first ever safari into that surprisingly un-exotic, big-box land of mass capitalism. I bought a pillow. We ran into the Iranian couple next door and we all squeezed into Alex's car for the ride home.

Other odds and ends over the past few days include cooking, cleaning, shopping, reading, and registering for a Swedish Social Security number so I can get health coverage. Tomorrow is an introductory meeting for masters students at the university from 3pm-5pm. I hope to find the building and get all suited up for studies! Although Friday is THE day for class and program registration, I’m much looking forward to jumping into things.

Well, that is that. I seem to have gotten the creative wind blown out of my sails but I hope to update more regularly as the days go on. It’s an adjustment here (as is every step in life) but I’ve learned to take it like Silly Putty: at first it picks up a nice, neat imprint of the newspaper then it slowly smudges and loses that fine edge. Finally, it then gets integrated into the pink pudgy mass turning all things a bit gray. Dang, that stuff is weird! And Slinkies! Who invented these toys and why? :D





*Swedish customs is sort of interesting. You have your passport checked before entering to reclaim your baggage. After you have reclaimed your suitcases, you then walk down a hallway and out the door. I breezed past about 6 uniformed officials with a smile and nod. If you have anything to declare, I suppose you’d speak with them and with my overly large bag, I did feel a mite nervous.