OK, this blog thing didn’t work out quite the way I had hoped. For various reasons (some more interesting than others), I didn't get around to writing as much about being in Sweden as I had hoped. This blog dried up faster than skagentoast left out on a bench in Gustaf Adolphsparken during Midsommar. But I only feel a little guilty. The internet is lousy with unfinished blogs so what’s one more? But with little more than week to go before we head home, I’m going to give it one more shot and just dump some stuff and call it day (five months). First up… Black people. Where have you been?... WE"RE BACK, BABY! It only took a few months of being in Stockholm but… Black people are back, baby! Ok, they never really went anywhere. Black people were definitely in Sweden before I got here, and they’ll be here when I leave but for a while I was wondering if there weren’t as many here as I thought there would be. When we got here in March, when the weather was kinda grey, kinda cold and generally meh, I didn’t see many black people just walking around on the street, sitting in the coffee shops or bars, or even riding the subway. A few – maybe one or two in a week – but not many. The few black people I did see were working at gig-economy jobs – mostly food delivery, zipping around the city on some form of two-wheeled vehicle – bikes, scooters, etc. A couple seemed to be heading to an office job, and I saw one guy working in a grocery story. But they were all mostly working, but not just hanging out. And we went to a variety of places, from the upscale neighborhood we were staying to the more blue-collar Sodermalm and in-between. Even black folks of the tourist variety were few and far between. “Now Ken,” you’re probably asking, “how can you say that? How can you be sure there were no black people around? Who would notice if there are or aren’t black people around?” And if you ARE asking that question, you’re probably white. Because black people KNOW when there are or aren’t other black people around, thanks to many work, education and travel situations. We don’t NEED other black people around, but you definitely know when you’re the only one there. But lo and behold, mid-May came and with it, like some sort of diasporic tsunami, a wave of black people suddenly appeared on the street. And when I say suddenly, I mean like out of nowhere. Just one day, no black folks walking on the streets and then… KA-BOOM!!! Black folks! I almost stopped dead in my tracks when I walked out our door on day, went down the street, turned a corner and saw more black people than I had seen in two and a half months. Just… out there. Walking. Hanging. Families. Friends. Single people. Just laughing and having a great time, riding the subway, going up and down Sveavagan. Like it was the official day black folks in Sweden were supposed to come outside and nobody told me. I’ll leave it to other people to provide theories (and if your theory is that I just wasn’t being observant, see paragraph six). I haven’t asked anybody who lives here about this, because frankly it’s a weird question. Going up to a black person - even as another black person - and yelling, “Where the Hell were you???” seems rude. Get 'em while it's hot... SWEDEN SWEATIN' It’s been unseasonably warm in Sweden, and even the local residents say so. Global warming? Maybe. But it’s not been good for a sweat machine like me. I sweat. A lot. I don’t know if it’s because there’s so much water in and around here or what, but Sweden is a very… moist country (sorry). I walk to the grocery store about four blocks away and by the time I get there I’m dripping. And because very few places have air conditioning, I’m walking around shopping for jordgrubbers and flop-sweating like Louis Armstrong after running a half-marathon. I’m not the only one who knows it’s hotter than normal. I’ve seen lots of people and businesses buying brand new fans to try to move some air around inside. Where most folks and businesses in the U.S. just pull the same fan out of the basement or closet each year, people here are having to buy one new since, I guess, they’ve never had a need for one before Even using a fan isn’t an easy job, since most buildings in Sweden are designed to keep heat in and windows don't open all the way or open in ways that don’t accommodate fans (open only slightly from the bottom, for instance). Folks here don’t seem to be bothered by that, judging from the way they flock to the parks and outdoor cafes trying to soak up as much sun as they can (Yes, I realize they have months of darkness so don’t try to explain it to me). Any day of the week, they’ll plop down in a park, in the most open, sunny area they can find and just stretch out for hours (weirdly, despite that, there aren’t too many deeply tanned people here.) All of this, in a way, is good for a non-sun person like me because it means I can always find a seat inside a restaurant or bar. So, I guess there IS an upside to climate change. For me. A fish that has been monged. , but FISHMONGER MEMORIES Bought my last fish the other day from my fishmonger. Did I tell you I had a fishmonger here in Stockholm? Yeah, I get fish from the fishmonger, usually on Tuesdays. I’d say, “Hey, fishmonger!” And he say, “Hej!” and then he’d mong me some fish. Usually Arctic Char or perch or halibut. And then he’d give me some tips on how to cook it in the oven or something. I’d say, “Thanks, fishmonger.” And he’d say, “Tak!” I think everyone should have someone who mongs fish for them at least once. He was there on the last day, but he wasn't working behind the counter. There was another guy there, not as old as the original fish monger, but a monger nontheless. He was... a younger monger. A photo of the bartender and owner I pinched from their Facebook page. THE BEST MARTINI My problems obtaining a simple martini in Sweden have been well-documented. I got one served to me in a tumbler filled with ice, one that was pretty much just vermouth and one that was all ouzo. But I gotta hand it to the bartender at The Bear in Mora. There’s nothing about this place that says “martini”, from hundreds of pictures on the wall of rock, jazz and literary folks like Frank Zappa, Charlie Parker and Hunter S. Thompson, to the old guitars on the ceiling, to the stage where rock bands played before the pandemic. And especially the bartender, a big, burly bald guy with a beard and arms like smoked hams. But adventurous me asked for a martini anyway. I saw all the liquor bottle on the wall, saw they were offering a few other types of cocktails and figured, OK, I’ll give it a shot. After some three-way translations between the bartender, the Turkish owner and me, we were able to all get on the same page about what a martini was and how it should be made. And on his first every try… he nailed it. It may not have been the best martini I ever had but it was pretty good. The right mix of gin and vermouth. Shocked So, if you’re ever in this small city in northern Sweden (which means you’re probably looking for the place that makes the wooden horses), stop by The Bear and have a decent martini, one of their really good burgers and a shot of raki, a Turkish liquor the owner gave us at the end of the night. It’s great if you don’t have any plans the next morning. SKA: THE UNIVERSAL LANGUAGE You want to get into a conversation while you’re traveling, get yourself a ska tattoo. In so many places, it’s a sure-fire conversation starter. Among folks who listen to ska, of course, but there’s more of them than I expected. Though maybe the same thing happens to people with AC/DC tattoos, I don’t know. THINGS ABOUT SWEDEN I PROBABLY WOULDN'T GET USED TO IF WE LIVED HERE FOREVER
THERE WILL BE A TEST ON THIS... For the trip back we have to do the whole COVID-test-within-72-hours thing again. Fingers crossed...
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HallåBecause I'm married to a very smart woman who received a Fulbright Scholarship, we're spent six months living in Sweden and, in particular, Stockholm. Having never lived outside the U.S., I figured I better keep notes. These are those notes. Archives
July 2021
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