:: GN: Take Two: Sweden! ::

:: Thursday, September 25, 2003 ::

I took a break. Things were a bit heavy on the old thinking side of late, was living in my head with my thoughts and I needed to clear my head. But I'm back, with a million thoughts about Sweden running through my head, about the place, the people and the strange habits these people have. I also changed my template to how it used to be, much nicer.

Moving on though... My subject of the day is Swedish people and their strange uses with sinks.

Now for me - coming from Britain - a sink serves the purpose of being the bowl you fill up with water in order to wash things, regardless of whether these things are dishes, clothes, hands, faces or feet. We have this two tap system, which I guess you have to be used to in all honesty, to appreciate. I have phases when I think this is a good idea (normally after taking a glass of cold water, drinking it only to find that it is indeed warm - YUK) but on the whole I don't really agree with this separating the water because you never get just the right temperature and thus you always have to fill up a sink and that is not very super good for the environment, apparently. Swedes may, therefore, have one up on us with their single tap status and they also may win with the pull/push gadget that makes the water spray out like a shower or flow normally like a tap, but they do strange things with their sinks, which leads me to believe that they are weird.

I am now specifically referring to kitchen sinks, which they use as a temporary dustbin or a place to throw their trash or rubbish. So they throw it in, whether it be paper or bits of food or whatever and then they have this little plastic scoop that they use to take the rubbish out and put it in the bin. Now, here's my question: "If the bin is directly underneath the sink and all you have to do is open the door then why not put things directly in the bin?" Perhaps my mind really isn't logical but this sink as a reception area for the bin idea is really beyond me. I infact find it totally pointless and what is more than that, disgusting. Imagine, you have carrot bits, paper tissues, bits of magazine, bread crumbs, perhaps some of last nights dinner leftovers, food packaging all lying in the sink. Then someone decides to turn on the tap. What happens then?! You have wet, soggy food and paper. It's bad enough the extra manhandling of this crap when you could have put it in the bin directly and forgotten about it, but then to have to manhandle it whilst wet and yakky too?! It's just wrong.

It’s wrong, but more than that, weird.

:: Fiona Thursday, September 25, 2003 [+] ::
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I haven't been around for a while... I have been to the Migrationsverket (Migration department) office here in Gothenburg. Actually it is outside of the city boundaires in what I like to refer to as the Somalian Ghetto, a good half an hour-40 minute drive from where I am living, half-way to Malmö and past IKEA even. I was there not only yesterday, but today too... Why?!

Well, it seems like nobody in the entire Migrationsverket system seems to know what they are doing with me. This has been going on for weeks, I ranted a bit last week as well, I am a dilemma. It would seem that I just don't fit into any simple category.

Yesterday the woman I spoke to was very nice to me, complimenting my Swedish all the time but she couldn't understand why I was here to practice my Swedish when I already spoke it. "Yeah, nice compliment... BUT GIVE ME MY PERSONNUMMER!!!" I was passed from person to person but no-one knew how to help me. They didn't know what box to tick so sent me away to go and "think"... as if I hadn't done that already! Frustrated and really deflated I left the offices in tears. It was a morning wasted, but I guess you just have to hit the right people, sorry that was meant to be get the right people but it came out in a kind of Swedish way (att hitta på - to find, come across) and I didn't smack anyone... As much as I wanted to.

Today, however, I had a new lease of life. Looking for a fight I drive all the way back there, waited in the waiting room for a few hours (as you have to do in the ONLY office in this city of many immigrants) before going into a booth, where there was a young girl sitting. Yipppeeeee! I explained why I was here and without any questions she began processing my application. She thought it was self-explanatory why I was here and of course she would try her best to help me. If there are any problems she will call me, and she has given me a few tips on how to solve any problems which may still arise. How nice!

My faith in the Swedish system is restored, only ever so slightly... I have decided that the system has its flaws for sure, what makes them evident is that the people employed there really have no idea what they are talking about - making the system appear even messier than it actually is. Ba Humbug...

Now, if you'll excuse me, Im a few years late in reading Harry Potter. Off I go...
:: Fiona Wednesday, August 27, 2003 [+] ::
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Lagom, this Swedish word that everyone boasts on and on about, does not actually exist. It's a myth!

If you compare Swedish to English, English wins hands-down on the number of words competition. Swedes use the same word therefore to descibe a whole load of things, and in particular they have this one word which they use over and over again and which cannot be translated into English. This word which I am talking about would be Lagom, meaning 'just enough' or 'in moderation'. This seems to suit the typical Swedish characteristic of being neither too good or too bad, too quiet or too noisy, too rich or too poor... Well, you get the picture... There will be no extravagence in Sweden, no form of excess... Oh no! Instead there is Lagom!

I foolishly believed it was true for everything here in Sweden, that everything here can be lagom. I mean, they seem to use this word an awful lot and they do like to stick to the middle. There are a lot of middle-lane wally's here (an expression my Father always used, to refer to the idiots who sit in the middle lane of a three-lane motorway) and often they don't seem to be able to make up their minds between yes and no (ja and nej), compromising instead with this great word nja. And do I really need to refer to the good blend of Socialism and Capitalism that is the Swedish Social system?! Being average and taking the middle-way is what I thought Sweden (and Swedish people) was all about.

I say thought. In reality this is not the case. This is just a bribe to entice people over here to this happy land of middleway, the reality is far different and Swedish men seem to prove this. There is no middle-way. So there was Mr would like to think of himself as Big. He liked the idea of having more, but was such a chicken in the end it drove me to almost insanity. Non-commital being an understatement here. And then at the far end of the extreme I shall refer to Mr X, who could tell me our future childrens names after one date and one date only. Talk about pushy?! Both examples are terrifying, and have shattered my illusions of Lagom. If anyone has anything to say to bring me back around, I would be interested in hearing what you have to say...
:: Fiona Friday, August 22, 2003 [+] ::
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Over at DesBladet there has been some discussion about ID, thus I am compelled to write my own little story about ID, papers, cards or whatever you want to call them.

At present am having a few problems with being a member of the EU - this is a first! It seems that although things are much easier for an EU resident than a non-EU resident in another EU country, things are easier only above-board. If, say, you are working as an aupair and not claiming tax (which I would do, but then my boss would have to pay tax on me and may cut my already extremely low salary) things are a bit sticky. Now, how many aupairs are actually registered in Sweden?! Probably ten in the entire country... These overtly honest Swedes only come in handfuls these days! I realised this only last week, and have been having kittens ever since then. That was why I wanted to come here. The honesty. Shucks.

I am only allowed to be here for three months before I have to make myself known, a legal alien as it were and I have to prove that I'm not going to be a nuisance in anyway. Now, would I really make a nuisance of myself? What is the problem with me being here? It is not enough me signing forms that I will not have a dozen babies and claim on the social security system, no they need to have some proof that I am able to support myself, which I can't give them because my Swedish contact is stressing about having to pay even more tax. But without making myself known here I can't really get the magic personnummer, which I really really need because you can't do anything without it, and ow else will I enroll for classes?! Oh, and I need that personnummer to go t the post office to get my real Swedish ID so that people will stop looking at me strangely when I hand over any form of British ID.

It looks like I am going to have to change my story, I'm sure we'll find a loophole in this catch 22 situation. It must be allowed consideirng that anyone from outside the EU can come over here on an aupair VISA for a year and can do pretty much as they please. And Im talking about Russians, Ukranians and Poles and you name it, where people WANT to come to Sweden to take advantage of the social system - I'm a long way off of that. I promise!

So, about IDs... I couldn't believe it, Saturday night we were out in town and I was asked for my ID not once, but twice! I couldn't believe it. Sure I was flattered, it hasnt happened to me in months, years even, that someone thought I looked younger than 18 but then they were really quite rude about it the second time. We were in an outside restaurant/bar and to get served we showed our ID - that was fine. However we were then eating our food, keeping ourselves to ourselves, a nice group of three girlies (I may add ALL of us well over the drinking age) and this rude woman came up to us and just hovered over us, ruining our food. Why she couldnt have waited for ten more minutes was beyond me... But I guess this is Scandinavia and papers are supposed to be important here!

I say 'supposed to be' because last week when I went to pick up a parcel from the post office, with my slip in hand, they didn't even ask to see any ID. That I found shocking. Where does all the money from the extortionately high prices to send parcels and even a simple postcard go to?! Certainly not to the staff... They aren't doing their jobs properly. Next time I expect to be asked for ID, so someone better send me a parcel soon so I can check it out!


:: Fiona Tuesday, August 19, 2003 [+] ::
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I'm suffering from shock! I just came home from the post office. I had to send a small package to the UK (when I say small I mean it was 94 grams), and three postcards. Now considering that I have been sending things to Sweden from UK for years now - parcels big and small - I figured that the price would be equivalent, considering these parcels and cards would be travelling the same distance, simply in reverse. I was wrong. Ten minbutes later, after much "men, hur kan det bli så dyrt?!! I surfaced from the Preem petrol station (they mysteriously abolished post offices here in Sweden, in favour of going to your local petrol station or betting shop - can anyone explain to me why, btw?!) 177 kronor lighter. Uhuu, that's right. For one tiny package and three post cards I payed 177 kronor! Ugh. In normal prices people, that is GBP £13.50.

Were I not working as an aupair, and at this very moment in charge of two small girls (they are eating the brownies we made today, and watching Disney Channel, so I am 'free' for ten minutes until they get bored) I might be tempted to go have a drink. Or, maybe not. I went to Liseberg last night and decided to have a cider, only a small cider... 50 kronor later... You are getting the picture! Am in deep shock!
:: Fiona Tuesday, August 12, 2003 [+] ::
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Friday I reached rock bottom. My big plans for the weekend fell through, and I was devastated. How wouild I get through the weekend without human contact, I mean other than that of kids and parents who worship said kids?! I was so sad I couldn't even blog, and I sent my friend Princess S (not a real Princess, and sometimes she is a Goddess but at the mo, due to some posh boats she is a Princess) a message telling her that I hated Sweden. This she will keep for posterity, because Sweden has always been the Holy Grail for me. Sweden could never do anything wrong, and I saw the entire country through these magical blue and yellow Swedish glasses. Lalalalala. Not once have I ever uttered a bad word about Sweden, but there I was cursing like I haven't cursed since an average day when I lived in Russia. It was not good. I was at my wits end with the girls who had friends round so not only was it double the trouble but they were showing off. I was dealing with heartache due to Mr would like to think of himself as Big. And I was feeling very lonely and unsettled... Not even the cheesy music on my now favourite radio station, Rix Fm, could snap me out of it! And I think I ate half a piece of bread all day - and I love food. It was drastic. So, what did I do?! What any emotional female would do. I started crying.

And crying was what I did for an hour solid until the phone rang and my night in shining armour rescued me from the seemingly endless desperation. The really surprising thing was that the girl on the phone was... UKRANIAN, mother tongue RUSSIAN! The world works in funny ways sometimes. Anyway, I wrote about her earlier and said we would meet up, she is also an aupair here, and has been so for a year already (you won't catch me doing this for any longer than a year, but then again I don't come from Eastern Europe so fingers crossed I won't have to). She heard me crying, que : pochemy ti plachesh?/Why are you crying? Out came the sad truth, really I had no idea. I mean, sure things were tough but it was also only day 10, and I should accept the fact that I'm not superwoman and not cry like a mad woman for an hour. She insisted that I went to meet her that evening, and so with no food in my stomach... Off I went into town!

This is where I seemed to come alive. I love the centre of town. This is what I came for, and I was all excited. Even if I am constantly haunted by memories of Mr would like to think of himself as Big, I really love the city of Göteborg and I feel very much at ease here. It was like a new lease of life... Human contact! There were, shock horror, people my age (grand old age of 22 should you be wondering) everywhere. It was the start of Göteborg's Kalaset, ie a big street party, and the streets were packed with party people. It was nice to get out and about, and even stranger to do it whilst speaking Russian. It rekindled my affection with the Russian language, and here is where things get trippy...

So, today I was having one of those 'sort things out' days, making lists and scoring things off them, like all the äthings' I had to do, with regards to tying up things and also finding out about classes and things whilst I am here - I don't want to just be stuck indoors all day. Of course I will be taking advanced level Swedish classes but then I had a thought, hmmm, trouble. I don't want to loose my Russian, well to have lived in that place for oh so long and have nothing to show for it three years down the line or however soon it takes to push things to the back of my mind. So although I do grumble about Russian, I actually like it. There, I said it. So today I wrote a letter to the Russian department here at Göteborgs Universitet, and fingers crossed something might come of it. It doesn't seem like there is too much of a demand for Russian here, infact in the lediga platser at GU this coming semester there was an overwhelmingly high number of Russian classes offered. I see the majority of people are sane. Well, we can only but wait and see what will happen with that. It would also, of course, be good to be at the university, studying and getting some points, but more importantly be meeting people and I mean Swedish people. Who knows who I will meet at my Svenska för invandrare/Swedish for immigrants classes?!!

It turns out that the world works in funny ways... First of all I utter a bad word against Sweden, secondly I'm re-embracing Russian, even after my disasterous final oral exam and half a hellish year in Russia, which still haunts me. Maybe one day, despite saying never, I will end up teaching too. Hahaha! It just goes to show you: Never say Never!
:: Fiona Sunday, August 10, 2003 [+] ::
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Nothing much to report here from the top of the hill, other than the fact I am slave to two girls. Two very different girls. I try and please them both, but inevitably that ends in disaster, so one of them is always bound to be in a bad mood or grumpier than they ought to be, and over stupid things. Argh. This is a fact I shall just have to grin and bear, as much as I despise it. Girl #2 has just had a hissy fit over getting her shoes wet - it's like everything is a drama and she has to scream and shout about it. Girl #1 on the otherhand is much quieter, but much deeper and a bit sly, she has a serious attitude considering she is only nine.

Neither of them though, is easily entertained for a long period of time. Maybe it is my warped memory, but Im sure when I was their age I was able to sit for hours on end playing with one thing, with lego or dolls or my pens and paper. This isn't the case these days. Children have a very different life, and they are very high tech. It's all about computers, and games, and gadgets and videos and, the list goes on, it's no wonder they get bored so easily! I get bored with computer games etc... It's like they don't know how to just play, and are used to constant amusement, perhaps a bit spoiled and due to this are suffering from a mild case of ADD. This is a completely different problem, dealing with this, than anything I have dealt with before and suddenly those Russian case endings aren't looking so very bad at all! It's all a bit upp och ner, up and down, but as people keep reminding me, life experience.

Now for something Swedish, just a snippet. Last night (or was it the night before?!) whilst watching Sex and the City I was reading the subtitles and the good old phrase John Thomas, was translated as Petter-Niklas. This made me laugh. Lots. I never heard that one before. But having had Swedish boyfriend (ahem, s) and reading womens magazines, I know there are an abundance of words to learn, things you just won't find in a book. That's where I'll be if anyone wants me, learning words to snicker over when in a juvenile mood.
:: Fiona Thursday, August 07, 2003 [+] ::
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I feel I have to justify my love for reklamradio, private radio stations, not publically funded. What is that in English anyway? Do we have name for it? We must do..

I love adverts, commercials whatever you want to call them. At the end of the day, I am a consumer. I like to know what is out there, and it is nice to have the choice of listening to these radio stations, knowing that they havent always existed and also that there won't be any subliminal messages from the government. My Goodness, I think some Russian attitudes rubbed off on my. Well, I just like it, and I like the adverts. You can learn a lot from these adverts: I heard the Sex and the City theme tune yesterday, ran like a mad woman to my radio as it is the only TV programme I would sacrifice going out for, and I now know that it is played on TV3 (that's right, a commercial TV station) on Tuesday evenings at 19.55. Very informative. Oh, and I can tell you what the bear offers at Preem petrol station, yup björnen är bäst när du ska ha fest. Then there is also the comedy vaule of these adverts, the afore mentioned Preem adverts have, I think, some form of foreigner speaking Swedish. He sounds a bit stupid, but also completely trashes English - you should hear the way he says mastercard - it is guaranteed to make me giggle each time I hear it. Then the content of the adverts, just a bit dumb. Like the telephone sales person having a guy tell her no, he doesn't have children, but wait, does she wants children? He's an aquarius and 25, or whatever... Its basically saying "If you are a sad git, then you too should call Loveline, but be prepared it's expensive..."

But what is more, these radio stations are kind of comforting in a way as they play their music on repeat, so if you like a song and want to hear it again its pretty much guaranteed it will be on again in an hour or so. You feel you are realy listening to what people like. And its very specific to the country, commercial radio stations (there I hit upon the word) vary greatly in each country and I just tend to prefer them. It's like the chewing gum of radio stations, just easy. I have grown very attatched to Rix FM already... and it's also a novelty to be able to listen to the radio because in Bath I was living in a basement flat so there was no reception and I lived witout GWR FM for a whole year - that's the local station in the South West of England, with such delights as Graham Torringtons 'Late night Love.' Hear this once you will want to hear it again, pathetic people calling in to solve their love and relationship problems over the radio, or even worse, to proclaim their deep love for someone they met an hour ago. Comic.

I guess they are naff, making them funny, making me like them in a weird kind of affectionate way. Oh, and I love the jingles... I have a few jingles floating about in my head from various stations across Europe, and Rix FM's is very good. Bliss.

The technical problem is still rearing its ugly head by the way...

:: Fiona Wednesday, August 06, 2003 [+] ::
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First of all, any of you tecnological wizards knowing how to stop the weird thing happening with my special Swedish letters, then please let me know. It makes the blog look messy, and me no likey.

So, I was chatting to my brother last night (the funniest man to walk the face of the earth in my opinion, he can make me hurt because I laugh so much) and he asked what had happened to my English. Apparently it has gone down the pan, and I have only been here a short while. Im using all sorts of funny expressions (perhaps it is worse conversationally) so I apologise if my blog isn't quite up to scratch!

I have had a weird day. Weird, but good. It is early starts all round here, the girls start school (at the moment fritids, a kind of playgroup where the school is open just for playing and special fritids-teachers come in and try and watch over dozens of screaming children all under the age of 9, that seems to be the cut off age thus it is only one of my girls who goes) at eight so Im up an hour and half before then. This for me is a bit strange, bearing in mind that I until recently was a student and the VERY earliest I would get up was eight! I am expected to be entertaining from super early, ahhhhh. And I have a nine-going on twenty-five year old to entertain the majority of the day... That can be a bit difficult, and in the short time I have been here we have exhausted pretty much all of the things she like doing. In fact, this is not the case... She just told me it was, to get her own way over something. And what, you might wonder, was that something?! Going to visit Charlie Brown, the puppy now turned dog of Mr would like to think of himself as big's parents. From my first ten minutes here she has been harping on and on, Mr would like to think of himself as big had invited her over Easter to go see the puppy and she remembered. Bless. It actually hurt to say "later" to her, as she had obviously waited so long to go see the puppy and is animal mad. In the end I bit the bullet so I called Mr would like to think of himself as Big's folks and arranged to go over there. I arranged this last night, so all last night I was stressed. What would I say to them? What would they think of me?

I don't honestly know why I stressed, they were as lovely as ever, and I was perfectly welcome. They infact were none the wiser that Mr would like to think of himself as Big and I weren't exaclty on speaking terms this month, finally we have found a use for his insular attitude (it never came to much use before, was more of a pain in the rumpa - being Swedish for bottom). Things went as normally as they could - for me, it felt just a bit sick - until they asked about him, and hahahah nervous laugh, I had to tell them that things weren't going. That was just a bit weird, but they were still nice to me - probably thinking it was one of his weird moods. Maybe it is. I don't know. We sat and drank coffee, eating little cakes and talking about Sweden, and how sweet I spoke Swedish, and not at all like other 'immigrants' (this is a favourtie topic of conversation for them, never before have I been an 'immigrant' though - am European!). Infact, it was as if nothing was had changed, although the dog was bigger and girl #1 was with me. Am glad I did it, went to see them and got it over and done with - it makes things much easier, knowing that I will never have to conquer that dreaded moment of the embarassment of meeting them in the street.

It's like a continuous list of small battles...

My next battle was calling another aupair in the city. She is actually from the Ukraine but I figured that since we were in Sweden, and knowing she has been here for a year already, that our common language would be Swedish. I spoke to her in Swedish, and was prattling away and she informed me that she didnt speak such good Swedish as me, so then it happened.... I switched into RUSSIAN! It was the first time I did that since my Russian final oral exam, which did not go well at all. I was pretty unhappy after that, vowing never to speak that damned language again, but I did! Like an out of body experience, I could hear it myself speaking Russian and arranging to meet her soon.

Oi, oi, oi... have to go pick up girl #2 from fritids soon! But before I go, am listening to the radio (Rix FM... För bäst musik just nu, Rix FM) and the Sixpence None the Richer song came on, Kiss Me. The DJ has just explained to the listeners that it means Kyssa mig and was kissing into his microphone over the airwaves. Well, thanks for that. Swedish radio, now there is something I find funny. Maybe I'll write about that tomorrow...

:: Fiona Tuesday, August 05, 2003 [+] ::
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Lesson number one in how not to get lost in Sweden is this:

When going away for a weekend, learn not only how to get to your destination, but also how to get back home again! So, I am living in Göteborg (Gothenburg for the non Swedish speakers), in the Northwest of the city on the island of Hisingen. It is very residential where I am living, there are lots of families with children - you would kind of expect there to be since Im working as an aupair - and a big hill with fabulous views over the city. Lets just say that walking around I know the area quite well, I have been here before a few times (Mr would like to think of himself as big's parents live just ten minutes away) and I have a good memory for these things. Therefore to get lost yesterday was a big thing for me.

I had spent Saturday and Sunday with a friend in Varberg, a small Summer town about an hour south of Göteborg. It was exactly what I needed. I had been feeling a bit lonely, even a bit devastated by the fact that I am here in Sweden. I was very shell shocked, and it is strange to become so involved in a family so very fast, and the situation I am in with regards to Mr would like to think of himself as big is hmmmm, a bit sick. A trip away from the crazyness, but still within reach is always better to refresh oneself and so out came the maps and the plannig began. I knew exactly how to get to J. We had a great time: chatting, drinking coffee, walking about, drinking wine, chatting more, sailing, lounging about by the sea, visiting the castle, sitting in terraces, eating ice-cream. Then it was time to leave...

I took the E6 north to Göteborg, thinking it would take me to how I originally took that road going south, knowing that I had to cross over the Göta Älv (the big bit of sea that cuts Göteborg in half) to get back to Hisingen and thinking I would do it by going over this very large bridge. Hahaha, as if life is ever that simple?! I continued to follow signs for Göteborg and all of a sudden I was in the centre of town. Luckily, as I said I know the city quite well and thus I knew that if I took the road to Oslo there would be a tunnel. What I didnt realise was that straight after the tunnel I had to exit the motorway, and I was well on route to Oslo before realising this. I pulled off the motorway in a flap, and then it happened; I got lost! I was driving about in the middle of this industrial estate, and I couldnt even find the way back to the motorway. It was awful. I had no map, there were no maps about for tourists/lost idiots, I couldnt even have called anyone to ask for help because I had no idea where I was. And it was a far from desirable location. Now if there was something to reduce me to tears this was it. I pulled over, and decided I would have to just snap out of it.

I managed to find something I recognised, in fact a busstop where Mr would like to think of himself as big once jumped of a night bus, pulling me off with him, thinking it was the wrong bus. In fact it wasn't and we were stranded. Thanks. But, it turned out that this glum little place would in turn be my saviour, and I followed my nose and eventually (an hour later than expected) I arrived home.

It was a good lesson. I'll never leave home without a map again. At least not until I know the area better!
:: Fiona Monday, August 04, 2003 [+] ::
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