Bikram galore

Have I mentioned that every winter, I do a spurt of bikram yoga? It’s become a sort of tradition, when the bitter coldness of the Scandinavian winter becomes too much to bear. I retreat into the deep warmth of a mirror-lined cocoon where sweat drips from my every pore for 90 intense minutes.

my sweat-soaked towel at the end of class

I have a love-hate relationship with bikram yoga. I’m in the middle of a month-long spurt now, and am part counting down the days until it’s over, part wishing my last class would never come. 

In the hours leading up to each class, I desperately try to drink as much water as possible. And throughout each class, I play a fantasy of jumping into a cool pool of water - any water - over and over in my mind.

At the end of every bikram class, I'm beat. Beat in a good way, beat in a bad way - in either state, moving is a great effort, at least for a little while. I drag myself out of the studio and sit on the cool floor letting what feels like cold air (read: normal room temperature) surround me. It's probably a breeding ground for getting a cold, letting my sweat turn so quickly, but there's really no alternative if I ever want to leave the yoga studio.

With recovery and showering, it usually takes me about half an hour before I leave, but my face remains beet-red for at least another hour. I like to think of it as a healthy glow, but beneath my clothes is also a whole lot of "after sweat." No matter how cold of a shower I take and how slowly I try to get ready, each layer of clothing must be peeled on over rising sweat. How can there be any left? I wonder in vain. There always is.

I love the sweat and I love how I feel after a good class. But I look forward to not spending so much time preparing for, doing, and recovering from bikram. And so, the end of my month comes just in time... until next winter, Namaste!

Getting to know Hasselhoff

Last night, I was one of a couple hundred Stockholmers who ventured out into the harsh winter elements (on a Sunday!) to meet the one and only David Hasselhoff.

that's his back just above my head!

What on Earth is David Hasselhoff doing in Sweden? you may find yourself wondering. No obvious Swedish connection, as far as I can tell. And honestly, after sitting in the first row of his new Swedish talkshow's studio audience for over 2 hours, I still have no idea. It seems he was just kind of struck by the idea that things are happening in Sweden and he should be part of them. Well, why not?

From the start, Hasselhoff was pretty upfront and relaxed, at least as far as I could tell. He introduced himself before the taping started, polling how many in the audience had been in a studio audience before and admitting that, as most of us, he's new at this whole thing too. 

Which was obvious, but in a good way I'd say. Hasselhoff did his best to eloquently pose questions to each of his 3 Swedish celebrity guests, even if he didn't know much about them. His signature question was So why are you famous? - and for each one, I was wondering the same thing. Sometimes he was eloquent, and sometimes there were long pauses while a certain "Mr. Happy" directed the Hoff from backstage through a hidden earpiece. 

Being part of a studio audience requires a certain degree of discretion when it comes to keeping details of the show under wraps until it's aired, and I'm not one to ruin a good surprise so I won't tell you who the guests were or any other exciting details. But I will say that sitting in the front row with the only signs - We heart The Hoff - in the house (thanks GK!) pays off if you want to be famous on national Swedish television. Which naturally we do. And so we shall be! Check it out and laugh with us at the ridiculousness of The Hoff in Sweden.

Starting the new year right

What do you miss about the States? 

It's a common question for me here in the far north, and one to which I always answer - after family, friends, and hot summers of course - orange chicken. One of the main dishes of American-style Chinese food, I simply can't get enough of it. Every time I'm home, I make a point to eat orange chicken at least once, ideally from Panda Express, America's Chinese fast-food of choice. The small pieces are completely engulfed in the gooey orangey goodness so each bite is extra flavorful. I'm undoubtedly taking 10 years off my life with whatever chemicals are used in the concoction, but it's totally worth it. 

My cravings for orange chicken have always been limited to my visits to States... until yesterday, that is. On the international hangover day of the year, NS and I dragged ourselves across the street - a struggle in itself - for Chinese takeout. I was preparing myself for the disappointment I always feel as soon as I take my first bite of Swedish Chinese food - a meaty lump doused in salty sauce at best - when low and behold, I discovered this amazing sign:

"Orange chicken, comes from America" - eureka! What luck! The greatest moment in Swedish culinary history since princess cake. And I have to say, it was pretty good. A bit of salad strangely added into the mix, but otherwise, grade-A orange chicken. I have a feeling it's gonna be a good year.

Kulor and muffs

If you know me, you know that I can be a bit of a control freak. I fully admit it - no use trying to deny the truth. And this was very much the case last year as I planned our wedding. As you can imagine, it was a bit more extreme than usual. 

So I decided... I mean we decided... on a nautical-ish theme for our big day. This didn't get fully carried out in the end, but for awhile I was obsessed with finding these. Do you know what they are? They were used way back to keep track of fishing nets, bobbing along the surface of the water to mark the spot. I don't actually know what they're called in English (glass balls?), but in Swedish they're glas kulor - and I went to every antique store I could (much to NS' chagrin) asking for these beauties.  

In the end, I found only one at a darling little antique store in NS' hometown Västervik. I visited in July last year asking for them and the owner said he had one put away in storage, but he'd have it for me when I came back at Christmas. Lo and behold, as soon as I walked in the door that December, he had it ready and waiting - my very own beautiful glas kule. 

The photo above is from that same antique store this fall with this gorgeous muff. I was tempted to buy it, but unfortunately it looks much warmer on the outside than it is on the inside. Perhaps I'll cave in anyway this Christmas. 

Not that it's been that cold so far this winter. Although winter doesn't technically start until December 21, in Sweden, winter's arrival is marked by the first 5 consecutive days below 0 degrees celsius. I'm not actually sure if we've hit that mark yet. 

I can attest, though, that it's been a wet fall. And from the seat of my bike, it's felt pretty cold to me. And it always feels like the wind is against me. Why does that happen? As of this week, though, I caved in and bought a monthly public transport card. Looking forward to all the books I can read now as the world passes by outside my warm bus. I guess that's the official start of winter for me - goodbye biking until 2014!

Recycling rant

I was reading an article last night that described my new neighborhood, Hammarby sjöstad, as an "ecological sustainability effort" to show that "a sustainable community can be achieved in a capital city." As nice as Hammarby sjöstad is, I must say I beg to differ.

My main objection is the scarcity, or rather, complete lack of recycling facilities. Sweden is known to be recycling-obsessed — and Swedes are really good at it. People rinse out their old tetra packs, unfold them, and sort them out from the metals, plastics, cardboard, newspaper, batteries... if it's not biodegradable, there's probably a place to recycle it. 

And throughout Stockholm, there are canisters every few blocks on the side of the road for each of these recyclables.

But not in Hammarby sjöstad! I realized this when we first arrived and I carried some cumbersome boxes around the neighborhood (much to the embarassment of NS) looking for these canisters only to finally surrender to throwing the boxes away. I later carried a load to the mall, sure I'd find something — again, nothing.

I guess the idea is that every building has it's own recycling room so there's no need for it street-side. But not our building! Oh, except between 7 and 7:30pm on  Wednesdays and Sundays. And only for paper and metal. Apparently there've been vandalism problems, forcing 24-hour access to be closed. 

My solution? Every morning, I carry all our recyclables in my bike basket to work and stop along the way to drop them in a receptacle. Do I look like a crazy person? Yes. But it's in the name of earthliness. 

And let's not even talk about how long it takes the water in our apartment to get warm. Talk about a waste! 

In the meantime, I will continue to doubt Hammarby sjöstad's claim - and will continue to carry my boxes and cans yonder. 

Thank you for actually reading to the end this ridiculous recycling rant. I promise it won't happen again.

Stockholm's first pop-up restaurant has a secret

On Thursday night, NS & I indulged in a 9-course meal by a 2-Michelin star chef from London for 495 sek (about $78). Sounds pretty good, right? Especially when considering Stockholm's classically exorbitant prices. But there was a catch....

And I wrote about it in my first article published in The Local! Check it out here: http://www.thelocal.se/50608/20131004/

To the East Side

Moving is never something to look forward to. The destination, maybe yes, hopefully yes. But I've never heard anyone say "I can't wait to move this weekend, it's going to be so much fun!" And yet, it is almost always a reality for everyone at least once in a lifetime. For Stockholmers, it's more like once a year. And when the owner of your apartment decides they want to move back in, your time is up. 

Our view from the kitchen sink

Fortunately for us, a friend of a friend was renting out his apartment on the exact day we needed a new place - and so we have come to live in Hammarbysjöstad, which translates to "Hammer Village Lake Town." Who wouldn't want to live in a place with that name? 

Hammarbysjöstad is actually still a part of Stockholm, but just East of the city center. And a beautiful place it is. It's one of Stockholm's more modern areas, up and coming you might say. Our building was one of the first, built 12 years ago. Now the area is quite built up and has lots of restaurants and cafes along open, water-side patios. Unfortunately, we've arrived just in time for the weather to cool off - and drastically so. Last week felt almost like summer, and now it's barely above freezing when I ride my bike to work.

I must admit, though, while I appreciate modernity, I will always love the old areas of Stockholm. The charm, the history, the character. I love imagining what happened in those same places decades, or centuries ago. Built in the 1920's, our apartment in Fredhäll had that worn-in character. But it was also very small and had no elevator... now we can ride up and down all we want! I'm still trying to take the stairs, though, for old-times' sake. 

We had a good run, Fredhäll - thank you for a wonderful 2 years and 3 months. Thank you also to our fabulous crew of helpers for Sunday's move. And now it's time to unpack the boxes covering the kitchen table... and the floor... and the bathroom... we've got a lot of stuff for a couple that doesn't have a lot of stuff.