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I apologize for making you wait almost two weeks to read the latest entry of this fair blog. I've been up to quite a bit recently, but I'm feeling lazy so this shouldn't be too long. The title of this entry is in Swedish and in English means "Sweden and Germany."
A bit of business first: Apparently, my blog has been nominated for some best exchange student blog competition. It's good to know someone actually reads this. Anyway, if you feel compelled, you can vote for my blog here. It's towards the bottom of the list, and for a reminder, it's called Utbytesstudent i Sverige. Below is a sweet button in case you missed the first link.
I'll now step away from the self-promotion and dip back into blogging.
I've been doing a lot of studying in the past couple of weeks. I had a final presentation for one class and a two-part final exam for Swedish class. It's amazing that I still can't speak any Swedish or understand much, but I can still pass the exam. Luckily it's pass/fail so I'll never know how badly I really did. I have one more class going on right now – Legacies of the Holocaust in the Development of the E.U. – which consists of a 15-25 page paper actually due after I get back to the States.
I've also begun playing soccer/football with a 7th Division Swedish club team, Torpedo Kamrat BK. If I'm not mistaken, I'm the first foreign player to play for them. They now also own my registration, so should Arséne Wenger come sniffing 'round my doorstep, he'll have to pay big money to Torpedo Kamrat. Which isn't to say I would necessarily leave....
I've played in one match so far, a draw against promotion favorites IFK Uppsala, though admittedly, it was their youth team. It was their first dropped points of the young season. Tomorrow is match number two. Since today is a link-happy post, you can view Torpedo's website here. It is all in Swedish, though.
Meine parents paid a visit to me in Sweden the past week. We spent one day exploring Uppsala, about all the time one needs to tour Uppsala. I love the town, but it will never top a list of possible tourist destinations. We then took the train down to Stockholm, where we spent a couple days. It was the first time I really got to explore Stockholm, and it is a terrific city. I would highly recommend you visit Stockholm, though of course, in the late Spring or Summer, when it is actually light outside. The highlight was probably the combination boat/bus tour around the city or the Vasa Ship museum. For those of you who know nothing about the Swedish capital, it consists of many different islands connected by a series of bridges and canals and is right at the junction of the Baltic Sea and Lake Mälaren, the third biggest lake in a country that has over 97,000 lakes. That's right, 97,000. The Vasa Ship was a 17th Century warship that sank only 2 km into its maiden voyage but was recovered in the 1960's.
My parents and I then travelled to Berlin. Being the age that I am, I am predisposed to talk about German beer. Seeing as how this is a family blog, I will not say that the beer was orgasmic (ha ha). But the beer I had in Berlin was pretty damn good. Unfortunately, I didn't have sauerkraut on this trip, but I ate plenty of wurst.
Adjacent to the Topography of Terror museum describing the horrors of Nazism is a segment of the Berlin Wall that is still standing. Everyone's heard a lot about the Wall, but to actually be in the city divided by it was a little eerie. I never ventured too far into east Berlin, so I didn't really experience the contrasting Western versus Eastern architecture, but the varying building styles in the West were cool enough alone. The really old buildings that survived the epic bombing and battle during the Second World War stood right next to modern buildings in random order.
Forgive me for thinking that we were in the middle of the apocalypse, but there were some bizarre weather patterns occurring in Berlin. We set out on our tourist duties one morning with the sun shining and few clouds in the sky, only to be halted inside a train station within two hours due to a torrential downpour. A couple hours later, it was sunny again. The next day, we were walking towards another train station when out of the blue a couple minutes of hurricane force winds struck. Had there been rain and palm trees about, I would have thought we were in the middle of Andrew in Miami. It was hard to walk. But again, within two minutes, there was no more wind.
It was nice to spend some time with my parents in Europe. Talking history with my dad was great and, I can't believe I'm saying this, but shopping with my mom at the KaDeWe department store in Berlin was also great. KaDeWe, or Kaufhaus des Westens, is very similar to Harrod's in London, though less excessive. That is to say, it has gourmet food, cigars, liquors, clothes, and other accessories, but it doesn't sell dune buggies or £25,000 foosball tables and doesn't take up three city blocks, just one.
The sad part of the study abroad experience is about to set in, with friends beginning to depart Uppsala and my eventual departure. But, of course, I still have two and a half weeks left here, and I intend to make the most of that time.
Like I told my parents, if I learned Swedish, I would definitely live in Uppsala or some other city in Sweden.
I'll decipher the lack of my friend's blog updates to mean that I am the nerdiest of all of my friends. But I'm just doing my Study Abroad duty and telling everyone what's going on over here, while getting in a word about Arsenal along the way.
Before I begin to blabber about my last week, I just want to, with every effort to avoid being insincere or cliché, to express my sympathies for Mark Herzlich of the BC football team, who has just been diagnosed with cancer. It is always sad to see someone my age being diagnosed with the awful affliction, but the fact that he is a world-class athlete and a probable Top-10 NFL draft pick in 2010 is all the more disconcerting. Incredibly, he still manages to sound like the smart and strong fellow he is in this interview with ESPN.
As I mentioned in the last blog, that you probably didn't read, I spent the first half of this past week venturing to Estonia, a former member of the Soviet Union. I'd have to say, though, that only about 50% of the trip was about exploring Tallinn, its capital. The other half was about the cruise to and from the city. Many Swedes, mostly in their early-50's and older, take the journey to Tallinn or Riga, in Latvia, to get cheap alcohol. As I've mentioned before, Sweden's state-owned liquor store, Systembolaget, is not very cheap.
This particular cruise was meant for students in Sweden, and accordingly, the moment The Baltic Queen began to move away from Stockholm at around 6:00pm, the line (queue) outside of its Duty Free store exploded. To everyone's chagrin, the liquor section had been closed for the day due to some Finnish students that had become too racuous on the previous journey. Nevertheless, beer was made available, so I picked up a 24-pack of Norrlands Guld beer for the journey.
There were multiple clubs on board the boat, in addition to a cigar lounge, several shops, a handful of restaurants and gambling tables. Our two-person cabin was outfitted with a shower, toilet, closet, and a flat-screen television. The journey took us first to Mariehamn on the island of Åland, a property of Finland, at which we arrived at around 4:30am, just as the multitudes were beginning to pass out.
The passengers, nursing their collective hangover, arrived in Tallinn at 10am. My fellow travelers, a Frenchman and a Masshole (resident of Massachusetts), and I threw on some deodorant and dragged ourselves ashore. Adding further credence to the theory that people are sheep, we blindly followed some people off the boat, eventually stumbling upon the Old Town district.
This district had everything we needed to see in Tallinn, from several churches, including a Russian Orthodox cathedral, the parliament building and eclectic collections of residential buildings, to the many guildhouses and, eventually, the old KGB headquarters. The KGB building was one of the eeriest places I've ever come into proximity with, up there with Dachau concentration camp outside of Munich. The building is closed down and there are no markings on it apart from a small plaque commemorating the untold amount of suffering that occurred there. The windows were boarded up from the inside, adding to the mystery and even dread of what transpired inside.
I really enjoyed the five or six hours I spent wandering throughout the city. It was a remarkable fusion of old French, German, Swedish, Finnish, and Soviet culture, food, and architecture. I especially enjoyed purchasing some coinage from the old USSR, boasting Lenin's picture. I don't even care if it was a scam.
We were exhausted from the previous night and the day's exploration, so we retired to the cabin back onboard for some rest. Upon awakening, we returned to the Duty Free, liquor shop open this time, to purchase some much needed provisions for the rest of our time in Sweden. I opted for Kahlúa and generic Russian vodka, key ingredients for my new favorite drink, the White Russian. In addition, we purchased some French red wine, which according to our French friend, was high class. I should mention that we did not pay much for it and also, that I purchased three bags of beef jerkey for dinner, undoubtedly diminishing any classiness I could have achieved from the wine.
After a repeat of the previous evening, we arrived in Stockholm again at 10am, making it back to Uppsala by noon. The rest of the week has been spent on schoolwork, which is beginning to pile up, and playing soccer, in attempt to diminish the fat, which is also beginning to pile up. Kidding.
It is about twenty to 9pm as I'm finishing this up, and it's still light enough for a person with poor-vision to play sports. I only have twenty-three days left on this fair continent, a few which will be spent in Berlin.
One final thought which contains a play on words that will make any reader question my social aptitude: once I get home, should I turn this into a Study A Broad blog?
Horrible.
Wow.
Though I may call this a boring trip story, this excursion was in no way, shape, or form boring for me. It began innocently enough with the usual trip to Uppsala Centralstation – it's become customary for me to take a bus to the station, but walk back on my return leg – the 260 SEK round-trip ticket to Stockholm-Arlanda airport, printing out my boarding pass at the airport, scurrying through security, and waiting impatiently at the gate to get it all on with. Though, this time, I had to, somewhat oddly, get my passport stamped before heading to my gate.
The Boeing-767 I flew to London on was the nicest plane I've been on. The British Airways vessel made me feel as though I was in business class, when in reality, I was smack in the middle of coach. I must admit, though, that in spite of the free beverage and Daily Mail newspaper, the complimentary Chicken, Cheddar, and Mustard Chutney sandwich left something to be desired.
We landed right on time, and after waiting in the kilometer-long customs line, I made my way to the Heathrow tube station. It was around 9 pm when I sat down for the 50-minute long tube journey on the Piccadilly Line. Strangely, as soon as I felt I had escaped from the old "hearing nothing but Swedish in public places" dilemma, a foursome of juvenile Swedish girls began gawking away.
Dear friend Daniel met me at the Gloucester Road tube station, and after a stop at the all-important liquor store, we trudged to his dorm. We nursed some Scotch, guzzled some beers, and left for a four story bar. With its live music and bustling energy, this Irish bar made for a good time. After a few hours, we hailed a cab, along with the friends we had joined there, and headed back to the dorm.
I should add here, that although I'm not going to disclose why, I ended up sleeping in three different places in the three nights I spent there. I'll leave you with the fact that I had no choice.
Anyway, on we go. We awoke rather early, maybe 9 or 10ish, and stepped on the Piccadilly Line once again, again heading Eastward, but this time towards a certain Arsenal stop. Anyone who has spoken to me for more than 10 minutes probably knows that its hard to stop me babbling about my beloved Gunners. Being in London, and Arsenal happening to have a match in North London, I figured I'd drag Dan along to see if we could conjure up some tickets.
We got off at the Arsenal and walked excitedly up the tunnel. A good friend back at BC had given me some tips on how to find spares, so we tried all of those. After lacking success, we asked around for spares, and oddly – I don't know how anyone could think of this – were directed to the Emirates Stadium box office. Apparently, they were selling Will Call tickets people had failed to retrieve on time.
We got in line, but, to our amazed chagrin, the folks in front of us snagged the final tickets. Discouraged, we walked back the way we had come, hoping something would fall into our laps. It then did. A somewhat mysterious, but business-like, fellow approached us, probably seeing the Arsenal crests in my eyes and disappointment on my face, and offered us tickets. £125 each, he said. Done, I said. After following him into a sidestreet, he pulled the folded tickets from his shoes, and the transaction was completed.
I then began to think it was too good to be true, and started to worry whether they were authentic tickets or not, especially because they lacked any barcode. At this point, I was shaking in anticipation for the moment when I would finally step gloriously through the turnstiles. I couldn't even put down my share of a four-pack Dan and I purchased.
We walked up the steps that lead to the Emirates itself, my knees wobbling profusely. Our intent was to attempt to enter long before the match started, so if we had been shammed, there would be some hope of beating the shite out of the crooked vendor. No problem. We got in.
We walked through the tunnel, and the beautiful, sun-brightened grass came into view. We examined the row number on our tickets, then those on the side of each seats. To our amazement, we kept walking towards the pitch. Finally, we stopped 11 rows from the lot of orange-clad ushers. I was sat directly on line with the middle of the goal. I almost cried.
The rest is irrelevant, other than that I had a goofy smile on my face the entire match, which Dan can verify, and the drunk Englishman spouting his mouth the entire match. Admitedly, I quite enjoyed the "ABC, 123, City girls have got VD" cheer he employed, but the rest was, to borrow an English expression, rubbish.
The match itself was wonderful. Arsenal never looked second-best, and thoroughly dismantled the shambolic Manchester City XI. Robinho was awful, and it was great to jeer him in person.
Anyway, I'm going to stop gaga-ing about the Arsenal, as I'm quickly running out of blogging steam but still want to talk about the rest of my trip.
After the match, we headed back to Kensington for a much needed nap. We then met some of Dan's friends for a pre-party drink, then headed to what some may describe as a rave. Ecstasy was present, and the environment at the place, called The Ministry of Sound, put me into a trance-like state. I should add that I did not, in fact, take ecstasy.
We headed home after nearly inciting a brawl, and after walking around Kensington a bit and seeing the exterior of the Royal Albert Hall, I fell asleep.
The next day, in order, consisted of tossing a football in Hyde Park, eating fish and chips, going to Harrods (which includes perusing their vast liquor and cigar collections and eating Krispy Kreme donuts), going to a pub, smoking some Cubans while sipping on Scotch, then going to bed.
The next morning, Dan and I parted ways, as he had class to attend, and I explored Trafalgar Square before returning to where I now sit, in Uppsala.
I leave for Vienna tomorrow, so expect Another Boring Trip Story in the middle of next week. Meanwhile, I'm going to work on getting some pictures available to you.
I'm a little ashamed of what happened this morning. I was on the Royal Dutch Airlines flight back to Stockholm-Arlanda, when I actually thought about this blog entry. Normally, my blog is completely spontaneous. This is just one sign out of many (hours a day on Facebook and YouTube) that technology is taking over the human race.
Anyway, I was thinking of what I could possibly write about Amsterdam. Everyone knows what happens in Amsterdam, so I can't really write without being cliché, though I usually am anyway. I know in titling this entry "Another Boring Trip Story" that I'll disappoint you, because any discussion of Amsterdam has the potential to be an Interesting Trip Story. I'll just list three things that I got out of Amsterdam.
1. It was great to hang out with some BC friends in Europe. I love the friends I have made here in Uppsala, but hanging out in Europe with some good, established friends was a really good change.
2. The Van Gogh museum was great. I have been to many other art museums in Europe so far, but this was by far the most moving. That man was completely swallowed up in his art, and some of his painting was incredible.
3. One needs to spend more than two days in Amsterdam. In fact, I was only in Amsterdam for about 45 hours. There is so much to do and see in the city that I could really spend a week there without thinking twice.
In terms of sports, we actually watched the beginning of the BC basketball game in a pub in Amsterdam – no, we didn't search it out; it sort of just happened to be on – and it was sort of drab. I didn't think the boys would only shoot 23% in the second half. That's a sad way for Rice to go out.
I did actually fill out a bracket this year, on Facebook of all places. To be honest, without being able to watch all of the games on television, I have little enthusiasm for this tournament.
I do, on the other hand, care a lot about football, and Arsenal are on a roll.
I'd like to point out before I begin my next boring trip story that I intend to cover a massive amount of material in this particular entry but won't get to most of it. This is mainly due to the fact that I have a very short attention span. This is why I don't participate in staring contests or online poker tournaments. Well, I guess it's only one reason why I don't participate in staring contests or online poker tournaments. But I digress.
I left for my next trip at an ungodly hour on Saturday morning – so ungodly, in fact, that I must have blocked out the exact time. My good friends (three Americans and three Aussies) accompanied me on this journey, first to Arlanda Airport outside of Stockholm. We flew via Norwegian Airlines to Oslo, or rather, Oslo Airport, 50 km (too lazy for a mileage conversion) outside of the Norwegian Capital. After taking a bullet train to Oslo Central Station, we walked to our Hostel.
This first stroll through the streets confirmed something we had heard about Oslo. There are many beggars on its streets, probably because of the extremely high price of living in the city. I even resorted to eating McDonald's (for the third time in Europe: once in Uppsala, once in Copenhagen, and once in Oslo – I'm trying to limit it to once per country), where I somewhat happily spent $10, an ridiculous sum for such processed food. I have to admit, though, it did taste good.
Our hostel was in a rather rough part of town, which isn't saying much for Scandinavia. I never felt unsafe, but I didn't feel I should count my money on the streets. Then again, do I ever?
We met up with our Austrian, German, and fourth Aussie friends and headed to find food. After walking for miles, I decided to part with the group, caused by an emotion I call "hunger-rage." You heard it here first. Anyway, three of the girls followed me – naturally – so we took our aforementioned trip to the home of the golden arches, then trudged to the National Art Museum, home to the paintings of Edvard Munch, artist of famous "The Scream" painting below.
The following day, an American friend and I headed to some more manly museums: The National Armed Forces Museum and the Norwegian Resistance museum. Basically, they were full of a lot of guns and stories of heroic people. The Armed Forces museum had some great displays of old army uniforms and weapons, while the Resistance museum catalogued the Norwegian resistance against the Nazi occupation in the early 1940s. That evening, Sunday, we had planned to go out but ended up hanging out in our hostel room, or maybe I should say we did not make it out. Read between those lines.
Monday morning, we, the gentlemen, headed to the Viking Ship museum, which I have to say was one of the best museum experiences of my life. They had three Viking ships, over a thousand years old, on display, two of which were perfectly intact. The museum also housed the remains of three ancient persons who had been buried with the ships, along with analysis of their lives and deaths. This museum made my trip.
We returned to the hostel Monday afternoon and thought of a funny prank to play on the girls. One of us had a half-full bottle of 50% (100-proof) Smirnoff vodka. We decided to replace the vodka with water – don't worry, the vodka was saved. The plan was to, when the girls returned, give him stick for not having finished his bottle (two of us already had). He would volunteer to drink it on the spot. We would pretend to give him all of our Norwegian currency in order to do so, and with much delay, he would 'chug' the entire bottle.
The plan was put into action, and the girls, and one guy, were all fooled immaculately, due to our wonderful acting. The protagonist in our plan pretended brilliantly to be hammered drunk, and the three of us stepped out for a cigarette break to determine the next course of action. We decided that we would return to the room, and he would lock himself in the bathroom and later exit acting completely normally. Incredibly, the girls did not pick up on this prank until we attempted to sleep that night at about 11:00, continually expressing amazement at how okay he was. A nine-hour prank.
We left on a train home the next morning, about a 7-hour journey. I was hit with a barrage of e-mails as soon as I turned on my computer – of course, most of them were fan mail for this blog.
For those of you who don't care about sports, you can stop reading. Thanks for your time.
Arsenal have been picking up the results lately, and it's nice to see. I watched the FA Cup Quarterfinal yesterday versus Hull City. It seemed like it was going to be the same-old new Arsenal, the one that cannot pick up results against the weakest teams. With Barmby's lucky goal, I got flashbacks of that infamous match in September, back when Phil Brown still had a beard. The second half was a massive improvement, and though Gallas's winner appeared to be offside, the Arsenal deserved their win and a date with Chelski in April's Semifinal.
Eboue and Song, two players who have appeared less-than-quality, have been playing well – Song especially. Arshavin is absolute quality, despite appearing to come from Santa's workshop. Fabregas will be back soon, but for now, I guess he'll just be spitting at assistant managers. If he's willing to spit for Arsenal, you know where his heart lies. Phil Brown and his ass-istant are tossers, anyhow. They whine more than infants.
As for Boston College basketball, it's nice to see they made the Big Dance once again after a year's absence. Credit Al Skinner for the brilliant work he is doing. I'd really compare him to Arséne Wenger, for finding the diamonds in the rough. For him to make the tournament so often at a non-perennial basketball powerhouse in a less-than-desirable location is fantastic.
It's funny to see them going against USC, a school for which I have such little athletic respect. Hopefully they'll be able to get it together to defeat the red-hot Pac-10 winners. I realize, by the way, that I am not a college basketball expert and that I should not be talking about something I know nothing about. But I'm going to do it anyway.
This may be the first year I can remember when I won't fill out a bracket. Given my placement in the world right now, there is hardly any enthusiasm for the sport, and I won't be able to watch because of the time difference.
Sorry for this massive case of "diarrhea of the mouth." I'll try to keep them shorter from now on. Amsterdam Friday...
My apologies for the immense amount of time it's been since I last wrote. A combination of extreme apathy and traveling has prevented me from writing recently. I can't possibly recall to you the events of the last week and a half, but I will recall my journey to Copenhagen for your reading pleasure.
Although I probably didn't need to, I skipped class on Thursday in order to give myself plenty of time to catch the train from Uppsala to Stockholm-Arlanda airport (a disappointing 130 SEK, or right now, about $14, each way). After getting three-quarters of the way to the train station, I realized I had left my camera behind, so I ended up cutting it close anyway. Good work, Brian. I made it to the airport okay, though, and was soon (after an inevitable 55 minute delay) being flown on Norwegian Air to Copenhagen.
I exited the airport to find Mr. Reardon awaiting me. He quickly guided me to a metro-ticket station and then whisked me directly off to a club. After spending about $8 to check my coat and suitcase, we proceeded to stay for two cokes (I should add, with a splash – nay, a drop – of rum) and promptly left. It turned out to be the end of our night. Due to his recent residence elsewhere (ask him about this), Reardon allowed me to stay in his room.
Friday was taken up by a visit to the Carlsberg beer factory. We walked around the museum there, and obviously, sampled some beers at the end. After a kebab, it was time to return to Matt's dorm for some dinner. Yes, that's right. After eating, it was time to eat.
Fellow BC student Jeff cooked an incredible meal for about 15 roommates. I was in awe that a college student could prepare such a feast. Sure, I can cook pasta and chicken breast, but I'm no Rachel Ray, although this is probably due more to the fact that I'm not addicted to amphetamines (nor am I a woman).
After forcing down some Tuborg Classics (beer) and an oddly delicious Red Bull-red wine combination, we headed off to a Danish dorm party, oddly similar to a BC party. Reardon and I then parted ways (again, ask him), and I headed back to my (his) room.
Our plan to awake early and tour the city was corrupted by our own respective hangovers (if I had a dime for every time...). Nevertheless, at around one, we forced ourselves out of isolation and into Copenhagen. We basically just walked around, took a mandatory picture with a statue, stepped inside the obligatory church, and pissed off the required palace guard by playing paparazzi (look at that vocabulary!). After this typical touristy stuff, we did a typical Copenhagen touristy thing. Christiania is a free town; that is, it is not subject to Danish or European Union laws. It's basically an old hippie district of Copenhagen, filled with drug dealers and shoddy buildings. Nevertheless, it was an enjoyable walk through the Sixties.
We bought some dinner food and more alcohol, ate, drank, played some beer pong, then went out to a club. After an enjoyable night, we – that's right, I AND Matt – returned to Matt's for some sleep (no, not that; he found a dormmate's room to sleep in). Two hours later, I headed to the airport.
The only other thing worth mentioning from that point until now is an announcement by the captain of the plane on which I flew back to Stockholm-Arlanda. He says, first in Norwegian, then in English, that he apologizes for the smokey smell on board and he is checking into its cause – just what you want to hear inside of a rickety metal tube at 40,000 feet. It turned out to be some anti-freeze liquid that had gotten inside the engine and then the ventilation system. Whether that is believable or not is up to you, but I am sitting safely in my room in Uppsala.
I'm heading to Oslo, Norway, on Saturday, but I'll try to throw one more entry on here before then, probably about Arsenal's imminent Champions League match. Or maybe about falling off my bike. We'll see.
Song: "Lateralus" – Tool
I took my first real trip (i.e. not to nearby Stockholm) of my time in Sweden. After slaving all night through a paper, I walked to Uppsala Centralstation for a ride to Stockholm-Arlanda Airport. There we embarked on a plane to Kiruna, in northern Sweden, which, according to Wikipedia, is in the Arctic Circle.
The flight lasted for one hour and thirty minutes. The descent was a bit nerve-racking to be honest, as heavy winds tossed the plane quite a bit and called for some rapid adjustments from the pilot. After landing on the runway, the plane pulled off to the side where we disembarked via stairs, immediately hit by a wall of cold air. According to the locals, this was a warm day, though my skin told my brain otherwise. I believe it was about -17˚C, or about 1˚F. Apparently, the day before it had been -33˚C, or -27˚F. Needless to say, we were all really disappointed about missing those temperatures, which, even Satan would agree, would have frozen over hell.
In any case, the lodging company picked us up at Kiruna Airport and whisked us away to the local ICA supermarket and, of course, the System Bolaget (the state-run liquor store). The driver/coordinator then drove us to our cabin, which I must say, was very nice. She warned us, though, that there was a limited supply of warm water, which, judging by the end of the trip, we took to mean we shouldn't take showers.
I bundled up in two pairs of socks, my winter coat, two pairs of gloves, and my hat, and walked to the nearby frozen lake. As I started to snap pictures, I suddenly had the urge to throw myself into a fire, but I took a more mediated course of action and simply walked back inside. Damn, it was cold. I'm from Los Angeles, for God's sake.
We had planned to take a dogsledding tour the evening of our arrival, but we were phoned and told that the previous evening, some of the dog teams had run off after some reindeer and were unavailable to run us on our tour. Skål (pronounced skole), we said, and consigned our evening to utilizing our System Bolaget booty. I should add, that after much anticipation, we finally caught a glimpse of the Northern Lights, a green streak in the sky. It wasn't as luminous as we had all hoped, but it was still an awesome sight.
We awoke, most of us in a ethanol-induced haze, and readied for the long day ahead. At 9:00, a guide picked us up in a van and took us to Camp Alta, the headquarters of the lodging company which rented us our cabin. They gave us full warm and waterproof jumpsuits, scarves, helmets, goggles, and boots, and walked us to snowmobiles. I had driven a snowmobile before, but for the others, it must have been slightly disconcerting when the guide instructed them solely by pointing at three locations on the snowmobile and saying "brakes, gas, stop." Two to a pod, we sped off towards the Ice Hotel. I must say, driving a snowmobile is an absolute blast.
After about an hour drive, we came to the world-famous (or maybe not) Ice Hotel. It is a hotel constructed, with the exception of doors and bedding, completely out of ice. Each room was designed by different artists, and after paying a fee of 175 SEK, we saw all of their work. Some of the designs were incredible, and hopefully, I'll be able to throw some pictures of them on here. Unfortunately, the Kiruna Absolut Icebar did not open until it was time for us to leave, but it definitely helped avoid some nasty snowmobile accidents.
As my snowmobile partner was scared to drive for one reason or another, I was one of the only in our group that was fortunate enough to be able to drive both legs of the journey. Thanks for that. We returned to Camp Alta after a short delay caused by, what we think, someone falling off a snowmobile. There, the guides prepared a wonderful, wonderful lunch of shredded reindeer meat and potatoes. If not for the meal being outside in the snowing, freezing, windy weather, it would have been an incredible hour. The smoke from the cooking fire kept blowing in my eyes as well. I can't complain though – the meal and subsequent coffee were excellent.
The guide drove us back to the cabin for some napping and warming time. At 17:30, another guide picked us up for our dogsled tour. Again, we were supplied with warm clothes, and four to a sled, we mushed off. The guide offered us some interesting insight into the life of the Kiruna people. He – probably his mid twenties – informed us that most of his friends moved off to the big cities in Sweden as soon as they graduated from high school, and that, despite this, he has chosen to stay in Kiruna because of his love for nature. He also mentioned that it was an unusually warm night, adding that he only had dressed in one layer.
We stopped at a warming hut after a couple miles and were fed coffee and pastries, then returned back to the camp. The guide drove us back to our cabin, and we spent the remainder of the evening consuming the remainder of our System Bolaget treasures and trampolining.
After an unfortunately lazy Sunday – I drank coffee, tea, coffee, took pictures, got in a snow wrestling match, drank coffee, then packed – which could have been utilized ice fishing or bathing in the sauna, we departed for the airport. I ate a reindeer sandwich, then hopped on the plane back to Stockholm. All in all, it was a very fun trip. I'm looking forward to my next trip, to visit Matt Reardon and friends in Copenhagen.
Shocking, it is cloudy again this morning in Uppsala.
Normally, the number of driers in a laundry room is equivalent to the number of washing machines. That way, one may transfer N washing machine loads to N driers. It may summarized by the equation N(washers) - N(driers) = E[effiency], where if E >= 1, the universe explodes.
For whatever reason, the washroom at Eklundshofsvägen 4B has four washing machines and two driers. That leads to an efficiency of 2, which in the self-contained laundry room, only resulted in the explosion of Brian.
Overreaction, you ask? Yes, of course, as usual. Obviously, I can just let one load sit in the washer while I wait for the other to dry. Actually, no, I can't here, in Eklundshofsvägen 4B, because residents here must sign up for time slots of three hours. If we come back at 3:01, the key card will not let us in. Therefore, I had to force all of my clothes into one drier, resulting in a drying time of just over two and half hours and more wrinkles than a retirement home. And, of course, the provided Iron did not work.
Now that I've got that rant out of the way, I can tell you what things I've been doing here that actually make me happy. I've been going out to pubs or clubs most nights here. Friday, my nation, Värmlands, hosted International Students for a Greek-inspired buffet dinner that was delicious. Afterwards, it was Klubb 054 in Värmlands for drinks and dancing. Saturday, I went to Kalmar nation for their club night, which featured such songs as "Smells Like Teen Spirit." Last night, Monday, I played football (soccer) in a gym with a bunch of fellow Värmlands members – a very good time – and of course, headed to a pub for some pints afterwards. Tonight, I believe, will be movie night.
I've also headed to some museums in the area: the Museum Gustavianum, which had an interesting ancient Egyptian exhibit; and the Upplandsmuseet, which gave the history of Upplands, the province in which Uppsala is situated. Tomorrow, I'll be heading back to Stockholm for a friend's birthday, but I'll go early in the day to explore the city some more.
Onto Arsenal – what is the deal with this Arshavin transfer? It seems like both Arsenal and Zenit St. Petersburg are being little children. Hopefully, the Premier League will sanction the transfer, as I'm sick of all these zero or one goal performances. What happened to the old days, Arséne?
Song: "God's Dice" – Pearl Jam
There's so much for you to read me write about. Get that? Where do I begin?
I guess I better start with changes to the blog, since you all (that's right, the two of you) have definitely noticed them. I made the page black because I think it looks cool, not because I am emo or gothic or anything. Also, I added a nice photo to the top. Thirdly, I enabled comments from those of you who aren't members, so anyone can comment now. Nice, right? I think I also may put the song that was playing when I finish each blog at the bottom, since I like music.
Alright, now onto sports. So Arsenal drew Everton yesterday in Liverpool, courtesy of a late Robin van Persie equalizer. I'm glad to see Robbo is fit and scoring. Also, I suppose the Arshavin deal is imminent. It'll be nice to have another threat.
It's nice to see BC basketball winning again after their appalling post-UNC performances. And I guess since BC football player William Ferguson is okay with the hiring of Frank Spaziani as head coach, then I am too.
Okay, now the stuff that I think some of you care a little about: Sweden. I'm not sure where to begin on this, either. Some differences I've noticed in my room alone:
- First, and most obviously, the plugs are different. I purchased a converter before I left the U.S., but when I plugged by hair-clippers into the socket, it went bezerk. I'll guess I'll be rather unkempt when I get home. I'll shave at least.
- Second, the shower floor is not separated from the washroom floor. There is only a curtain separating them, so I have been squeegeeing (sp?) the floor after each shower.
- Third, the small oven (almost comparable to a toaster oven) I have in my room is hooked up to a wall outlet that has a digital timer on it. In order to cook, I have to press the button on the timer and then turn on the oven, which has a separate timer.
I'll get to the cultural differences once I've been here a little longer. But I will talk about food because food is delicious. In terms of eateries, Uppsala has many combination pizza/kebab places, a McDonald's, a Burger King, a Subway, four thousand (okay, exaggeration) cafés, Italian, Thai, Chinese, and even American barbecue (called the Texas Longhorn – it's okay) restaurants. In other words, its very similar to the U.S. – a melting pot of food. I haven't even seen a Swedish restaurant yet.
At the supermarket (called Willie's), they have everything that an American supermarket has. Just a lot more sausage and less of a cereal selection. On my last purchase, I bought 1.5% Milk, pear juice (delicious, actually), dill-flavored Pringles, Frosties (Frosted Flakes, Tony the Tiger and all), Werther's caramels, salame, turkey, and pita bread – typically health conscious of me.
I just finished booking some travels! I am heading to Amsterdam for a couple of days in March to meet some BC guys (Lucas, Anthony, and Dorian, for those of you who are concerned), Vienna in April, and Lapland, the northernmost province of Sweden, to freeze my arse off (and see some nature, too!). This is all getting very exciting.
Until my next moment of inspiration,
Brian
