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.

Oh what a summer it's been

I'm alive! 

I just realized it's been more than 3 months since I last wrote. That's more than a whole summer. I'm sorry. I won't leave you like that again. 

But it was one hell of a summer. 

one of the last photos of the night

In case you didn't know, I went from Miss to Mrs. Mrs. Syk, that is. I'm still getting used to it. And trying not to think about all the weird pronunciations I have to look forward to. The joys of an old Swedish soldier's name. I'm the 61st Syk in Sweden, and in all likelihood, the 61st in the world! And the only Katie Syk, I'm sure.

We said goodbye to Stockholm in mid-July and didn't come back until the end of August. 6 weeks off. Hallelulah! 

2 weeks in Annapolis preparing for the wedding (there were just a few last details to take care of - haha)
August 3: a lifetime of wedded bliss begins!
Followed by a lazy, food-filled week with my family at our favorite Delaware beach, Rehoboth
Honeymoon! 10 days down south in Costa Rica, the land of pura vida. What an adventure! Snakes, monkeys, frogs, lizards, whales, tapirs (I didn't know what a tapir was before I saw one heading directly at me on a trail in Corcovado National Park - fortunately they're 500+ pounds of friendly ambivalence)

And our last stop: a whirlwind 6 days in San Francisco/ Sonoma Valley for V&S' gorgeous wedding

Now back to sunny Stockholm. Surprisingly sunny considering it's September 21, the "first official day of fall." I even saw a guy swimming this morning. Thank God for Indian summers to get me through the end-of-holiday blues. 

But to tell you the truth, it actually hasn't been too bad. Catching up with friends and getting back into a routine is nice, with lots more free time too. And I did come out on top with a husband and all. Another word I need to get used to. Husband. Eeeek! 

Thanks for coming back and reading, despite my lengthy hiatus. I plan to be posting now, full speed ahead. And perfect timing, too, with the darkness rapidly closing in on us, Indian summer or not. 

All of Stockholm saw my underwear this morning

And if anyone missed it, they got another chance in the late afternoon and early evening. The combination of a slightly too short dress and a too high seat on my bicycle was not optimal, to say the least. But it wasn't my fault. Really.

My bike was stolen yesterday. Over the last several months, I have become better acquainted with how it feels to come to the spot where you left your bike the night before and find it missing. This happened last November - but on a rainy, cold morning, I was almost thankful to have to take the bus to work.

Yesterday, however, that same helpless feeling was made worse in finding the wimpy lock that had protected my bike sliced in half on the ground outside my apartment where I'd last left it. Someone had come down my tiny bike path of a street and deliberately stolen my bike, equipped with what very well could have been a pair of kitchen scissors - a preconceived burglary.

I defeatedly trudged to the tunnelbana station and got on the sweaty, crowded train. How I longed to be pedalling in the warm sun!

After arriving home last night (by foot), NS made a discovery - my bike had been "returned" and was parked in the bike dock of the apartment next door! What luck, what happiness! The perpetrator had realized their mistake of having stolen the worst bike on the block! Hurra!

I must admit that I have cursed my bike countless times since buying it in April, but, if nothing else, this incident has given me an appreciation for my main mode of transportation. 

The bike was returned intact, albeit a missing seat cover and, curiously, a raised seat. Hence, the day's never-ending peep show. My hope is that in such a liberal city, no one minded too much, but I'm not so sure. Only in Stockholm is a bike stolen in the morning and returned by night fall. And just so you all know, I've now invested in a real lock... let's hope this was my last robbery. 

Fishy fishy

Something fishy is happening in Stockholm - you find it walking through malls, ads for it are everywhere, entire salons are dedicated to it. 

It's fish pedicures and manicures! Have you heard of them? Your feet and hands are placed in a tank of water filled with dozens of tiny, flesh-eating garra rufa fish which eat your dead skin. Sounds pretty nice, huh?

I experienced my first - and probably last - fish treatment on Friday. A Groupon lure, MP and I decided to give it a shot. It wasn't until about 3 seconds before we submerged our hands in the tank that I realized how disgusting this was. The visions I had of relaxing with a "manicure" and "pedicure" disappeared with the cool water temperature and feeling of creatures nibbling away on my fingers. I never would have envisioned participating in this treatment, let alone actually paying for it, but the craze has become so wide-spread here that I didn't give it much thought until it was too late.

Apparently the practice of fish pedicures started in Turkey where these garra rufa fish originate. The fish have been used for healing purposes for over 400 years, not only softening skin but also alleviating eczema and psoriasis. The practice has spread through Asia, too, where you can also submerge your entire body in a tank of fish! I don't think I'll ever be lured into that tank, no matter how healing it may be, thankyouverymuch.

There were a few others in the salon with us, none of whom seemed to be too bothered by what was happening to their hands or feet, while MP and I squirmed and writhed every few seconds as a fish tail flapped against our hands and feet. 

20 minutes of hand and 40 minutes of feet submersion later, our appendages felt... soft. Not so soft, but slightly soft. I wonder how long we would need to be in there to get a drastic effect. Athough I have to say, I'm not curious enough to ever do it again.