Re-adjusting to 'murica

It's been exactly 27 days since we've arrived back in the States, and I have to admit I'm still adjusting. It's been wonderful and hectic, as every vacation here has been for the past few years. But this time, the vacation is continuing into real life. (Although we're not quite there yet.)

Vacation mode along the Hudson in New York City

I may be back in my homeland, but I'm now here with a slightly altered perspective. It's undoubtedly the same beautiful place I've longed for, and I'm thankful for that - with the exception of a couple things. The most prominent one being traffic. Having not driven even once in more than a year, it was honestly a bit of a jolt being thrown into 4-lane, bumper-to-bumper traffic, lines of shiny cars stretching along the steaming pavement as far as the eye can see. Where is everyone going on this one road at exactly the same time? 

Luckily I haven't experienced a stand-still yet, but it's only a matter of time. And it's not just the number of automobiles - it's the way they drive, the most accurate description of which is aggressively. Man, are they aggressive. As I type this, I'm wincing a bit as I know I've lapsed into this dangerous category more than once in the last few weeks. (Note to self: give myself more time to get everywhere.)

Another adjustment for me has been grocery shopping. I guess any kind of shopping could fall into this category, but groceries is what I'm experiencing these days and it is crazy. The selection of bottled waters alone takes up aisle space greater than all the beverages in the biggest Swedish food market combined. Heaping baskets of fruit snacks in five new colorful flavors greet each consumer at the entryway, begging to be noticed and grabbed by the handful. I'm realizing that my go-to meals in Sweden aren't so go-to here. Try finding halloumi cheese in the US. It's no small feat, I can assure you.

I can say, though, that I'm loving the heat. I've missed this heat, even when it's sweltering and sweaty. And I'm loving all the people I've missed so very much: being a part of their lives again, being a quick phone call or drive away. 

Thanks for taking me back, America. Now let's see about starting a real life here.

Saying goodbye to Stockholm

A chapter is coming to a close very shortly. Tomorrow actually. In about 8 hours. Our time here in Stockholm - at least this go-around - is finished. We're off! To a new place with new people and new experiences. But there's lots here in Stockholm I'll miss every day. 

our across-the-canal neighbor, Karlberg Castle

I'll miss being surrounded by such beauty - both in the city itself and the nature it encompasses - 14 islands and all the gorgeous waterways between them.

I'll miss being able to bike home across town at 2am, and feeling secure about it. Not to mention getting there - as in anywhere - in just 20 minutes.

I'll miss being in a country where there are official holidays to celebrate baked goods - cinnamon buns, Selma, waffles...

I'll miss the endless summer days, where it's light past midnight and again by 3am. Even if it's not as warm as I'd like, there's truly something magical about the light.

I'll miss afternoons spent at my sauna club - and jumping in the lake between sweat sessions, no matter what the season.

For that matter, I'll miss jumping in all the lakes of this country - and the enthusiasm every Swede shares in doing do. 

But more than any of these things, I'm going to miss all the incredible people I've met here. Swedes aren't know for their friendliness, but the people I've met during my 4.5 years in Stockholm - both Swedes and non-Swedes - are amazing people who have taught me so much. 

The last few days here have been filled by a blur of cleaning like I've never cleaned before and packing way too many things into way too small suitcases. Not the most idyllic way to spend the end of this era. Then again, it's probably best for my emotional self to keep busy so as not to dwell on things too much. And there's so much goodness waiting for us on the other side! 

Thank you Stockholm, for all these things and for so much more. We'll be back!

A walk through the wild side of Sweden

Last Saturday, I spent the night in a tiny fishing hut alongside this gorgeous lake just outside of Tiveden National Park in central Sweden.

Serenity is the word. Not a sound save for the birds and our ax as we cut down dead trees for firewood.

I so wanted to take a dip off the rickety dock after a day spent hiking through Tiveden's ancient forest - but given that the fishing hut was little more than a roof over our heads and the sun was setting fast, I decided against it; Swedish springs are more like an extension of its winters - but brighter - and it would be a long night if I couldn't warm up. 

Without jumping in, though, I had one of my best nights of sleep in awhile beneath bright stars beside a dying campfire. I stayed warm in my sleeping bag + 4 layers of clothing atop a mattress of evergreen branches. 

A few swigs of whiskey may also have helped. I'm usually averse to this amber spirit, but have a newly-gained appreciation of it after last weekend. That and pea soup, lukewarm and straight from the can. It's amazing how good food and drink taste when you're outside all day. 

Our band of 5 arrived a bit too late to snag the best hut in the park on our first night - last Friday - but found another good spot close enough. And just in time: the last of the day's light faded as our fire got going.

The next day, we explored the rugged terrain of Tiveden's forest - measuring about 3,300 acres - which served as hiding place for outlaws back in the Middle Ages. I can see why. Massive rocks carve out protected caverns, perfect for hiding out. And who wouldn't want to hide out in such a majestic forest? Bright green moss covers much of the forest floor, sliced by streams trickling by with the last of the year's melted snow. 

After a late night around the fire on Friday, we didn't start hiking until around midday on Saturday. Sometimes it's good to ease into it. We probably covered about 7 kilometers, up and down winding paths, along the edges of flat, gray lakes. 

In the late afternoon, we came to Tiveden's largest free-standing rock, Junker Jägares Stone, stretching 15 meters high. A thick, fuzzy layer of moss circled the bottom; a single, wispy tree grew at the top, waving down to us in the breeze.

Our evenings' sustenance was grilled sausages; our mornings' was grilled bacon and sandwiches with jalapeno cheese squeezed on from a tube. We filled in the rest with trail mix. Hiking isn't hiking without trail mix.

On Sunday morning, we woke up to high winds and a bright sun. The tall, slender trees creaked and swayed precariously all around us, threatening to fall down at any moment - and we came upon many that did on our hike back to the car. We hoped to spot some wild animals - as we walked against the wind, they wouldn't be as likely to pick up our scent - but all we found were frogs. Lots and lots of frogs.

Swedish forests are mystical places, and Tiveden is no exception. There is something special about spending whole days and nights outside, a fresh rawness that seeps into every cell in your body. I survived our weekend in the Swedish wilderness, and loved every minute of it - frogs, tubed cheese, and all.

Let it be a dreary Friday

Spring has been cancelled. That's right - winter had so much fun this year, it's decided to continue it's run. For how long? Who knows, it's always a gamble. We can only be patient and hope for the best. 

I for one don't mind this dreary, foggy, wet, cold Friday. It's the kind of cold you can't escape, no matter how many layers you pull on - it gets right in to the bone. It's the kind of cold best watched through a window, next to a roaring fire, or some candles at least. A cup of tea in the morning, a glass of wine in the evening. And wool socks: they are key. 

Ulriksdal Castle this afternoon

I have a distinct memory of running home from school in 2nd grade (8 years old) on a Friday afternoon such as this one. It was the year I wore a specific outfit for each day of the week. Ariel from The Little Mermaid on Mondays, my sunflower shirt on Tuesdays. And my favourite outfit on Friday, complete with purple floral velvet leggings to celebrate the week's ending. 

On that gray Friday, I was so excited to get home and play - not having any homework to do until Sunday night - and as I made the sharp right turn to ascend the stairs to my front door, I slipped on the wet red brick and busted my knee. Lots of tears, and no more purple floral velvet leggings. But it was okay. It was Friday, and all the promises of the weekend awaited. I remember shaking it off and going to play in my room, cozily tucked up in my attic hideaway.

And that is sort of like today. No busted knees (so far). Just some laundry. An excursion even, to see what there is to see through the dense fog. And wool socks - extra thick ones.

My Swedish Gone Wrong

At a recent house (or rather, apartment) party, I found myself standing by the door welcoming some new arrivals as they walked in, shedding their winter layers. As one does in small talk, I asked one guy how he knew the host and hostess, to which an answer came out that I didn't really hear. Instead of asking this guy to repeat himself, I just laughed, loudly and overtly, my go-to reaction when I'm not sure what to do. It usually works out.

But not this time.

The guy looked at me like I'd just asked him if I could take a bite off his ear.

Why is that funny? he asked me. I said I went to university with him.

Uhhhhh ..... b a c k a w a y s l o w l y a n d a v o i d s a i d p e r s o n f o r t h e r e s t o f t h e e v e n i n g

awkward door guard

Of course, the problem was my level of Swedish in this - and many other - situations. The hum and blare of a 70-person party doesn't help either. Still, I was disappointed by my level of Swedish. After 4.5 years, I'd hoped to be a Swedish-language master, nearly native. No such luck. Although I have my moments. And I do get complimented a lot for how well I speak this crazy Nordic language. But I still struggle with simple things. Like what did the guy say on the announcement on the metro? And what is that news broadcaster reporting? Aren't news broadcasters supposed to speak clearly? I'm sure they are speaking clearly, but it's still a struggle for me.

I was recently asked by someone how much Swedish I understand, and I answered 90%. That's on a good day. Other days it might only be 50%. I do have relationships with people that are entirely in Swedish - and it feels strange to speak English with them. But with other people, I can't seem to even get into the flow.

Either way, as someone who's terrible with new languages, I'm proud of what I've accomplished so far, even if it's taken me awhile to get there. But learning a language never really seems to be over. It's a life-long process, like so many other things, and that's a good thing since I've got some more learning to do.

It's raining Swedish celebs (sort of)

Can we take a minute to talk about my recent Swedish celebrity sitings? Two in the last month! I know these are minor celebrities in the big scheme of things, but that's besides the point - I spotted them! On my own! And was somewhat star-struck, which I wouldn't have expected for these Swedish celebs. But there's just something special about going through a normal, routine activity, and all of a sudden, you look up and recognize a face that you usually only see through your TV screen. 

Like last week: I was waiting in line at the post office to mail a package. The gentleman in front of me was collecting one, and asked if he could leave the extra packaging to be thrown away. It took me only a second to recognise this man:

PHOTO CREDIT: värvet.se

His name is Johan Rheborg and in Sweden, he's famous for being one of four main characters on the Swedish TV series, Solsidan. On the show, Mr. Rheborg plays "Fredde", a middle-aged, quirky, very wealthy man with a severely receding hairline and a gorgeous wife. In real life, I'm sure this role has allotted Mr. Rheborg at least some degree of the wealth his character has; I'm not sure about the wife.

So what did I do? Like a true Swede, I played it cool (sort of), aka did my best not to appear that I was even ever-so-slightly looking. Everyone else in line behind me just went about being as normal as possible while Rheborg unpacked his things and stashed away what looked like a few bottles of specialty shampoo. (Which I'm sure no one else even noticed because they weren't looking.) I couldn't help not glancing over at least every few seconds. 

My other Swedish celebrity siting was a few weeks ago. NS and I were walking along a snowy sidewalk when I spotted this woman:

PHOTO CREDIT: svt.se

crossing the street ahead of us. Judging from this photo, she's hard to miss, but on said day, her hair was in a tight bun and she was bundled beneath bulky winter outerwear. Her name is Jessika Gedin and she hosts a Swedish program called Babel on which she interviews various authors about their books. I've not actually seen a full episode, and don't know many Swedes who have, but I was proud to have recognized her. Oddly enough, I saw her a second time the very next day passing outside my apartment. Stockholm really is a small city. 

In both cases, no words were exchanged, no autographs requested, no photos taken to document these chance meetings. It's just not the way celebrities are approached here. Whether a top idol or an aged star, Swedes will not do anything to intrude on their bubble .... that is, unless they've had a drink or two. Then all bets are off. 

I will say that, proof or no proof, I do feel a bit more ingrained in Swedish society now ... but will probably never be able to keep myself from glancing over at any celebrity I spot at least a few times.

A Spanish- & Swedish-inspired tapas consulate

Last week, NS and I ate a delicious meal at the new(ish) restaurant, Matkonsulatet, down the street from us. This tiny restaurant serves tapas largely inspired by Barcelona - and Catalonia as a whole - with a touch of Sweden. It was incredible. 

here's the place - cozy, eh?

We started with a cocktail that Spaniards traditionally drink before eating tapas. How very authentic of us, no? Although I can't remember its name for the life of me. 

Moving on, we ordered what felt like half the menu - and it sort of was, as there are maybe a couple dozen tapas to choose from and we got at least 8 of them.... crispy, buttery slices of bread with a garlic tomato spread; thinly-sliced chorizo like you've never had chorizo before; roasted potatoes with aioli (of course!); salad with roasted pears, blue cheese and hazelnuts; cod fritters; and a selection of Spanish cheeses. 

And the dessert - oh my: chocolate cremoso with olive oil and sea salt. I don't know what cremoso even is, but I love it. The thickest, creamiest soft chocolate ice cream-like substance - and coated with olive oil. It sounds odd, but I swear it works. 

Would I recommend this place? Claro que si! Should you go there now? Indeed you should! Right now! I mean, remove your gaze from this very screen and find the closest mode of transportation to Kungsholms Strand 157. On second thoughts, the entire Matkonsulatet team is traveling to Barcelona for some culinary inspiration in a couple weeks, so maybe wise to visit this little gem once they're back?