Saturday, August 11, 2012

Welcome to Sweden, Take a Number


The Swedes are a refreshingly honest bunch, who tend to efficiently state what they mean with their words. Take even the Swedish beer brand “STARKÖL”. Literally translated it means simply “STRONG BEER”.   

No messing about there. 

Most of the time this works well, though if they wish to imply something, they will often either ask you a question that illustrates the stupidity behind your lack of comprehension, or alternately, they may scrunch it up into a ball of anxious frustration inside themselves which will many years later turn into a cancerous tumour. This tends to happen a lot when people push-in while waiting in queues – you will hear no objections from the ever-patient Swedes, just a silent tirade of disapproval.  

Queues here are ubiquitous. You want to collect your mail? Take a number. You want to speak to a customer service associate at a store? Take a number. You want to talk to a blonde at a bar? Take a number.  

But seriously, queuing is a very Swedish thing, with most supermarkets having just one “checkout chick” working the register.  This obviously leads to long lines during peak periods, so when the rare sight of a second checkout worker appears, there is a mad scramble to make it to the new register.  I recall one time in a supermarket having waited around 5 minutes in line already, in that time making my way from about 13th in the queue to 7th in the queue.  With little to do while waiting, I’d observed that there seemed to be quite a few other shoppers not in the queue, but milling around reading the magazines and newspapers positioned near the registers. 

As the Hemköp employee approached the register, you could feel the Matrix-style slow motion kick in as the employee uttered the words “Kassan är oppet, nästa tack” (“The register is open, next please”). Magazines and pretenses were dropped by the non-queuing shoppers as their chameleon-like disguises fell to reveal their true identities as line-pusher-innerers.

Muwaahahaha!  We fooled you, you social-etiquette compliers!

But still remaining around seventh in line, the new checkout’s allure proved strong despite my aversion to lining up behind such supermarket customer equivalents to Olympic drug cheats. So with time still moving according to Matrix-temporal-retardation physics, I made my decision and began a quantum shift to the alternate cash register.

Despite my immediate reaction and swift execution, I was no match for SupermarketSwede, the Ben Johnson of Olympic Supermarket Cheats who happily overtook me at the halfway point to the new register queue. Yes, SupermarketSwede, who had been eighth in line and behind me in the queue, had broken into a sprint to ensure he placed himself directly in front of me in the new queue.

Outplayed at a game whose rules I clearly did not fully comprehend.

It was that day I learnt silent Swedish indignation. I can feel the tumour growing already.

Every man has his breaking point however, and recently came a time when my Australian willingness-to-object could take it no more. Recently, while patiently waiting in a Stockholm supermarket queue, an older man decided to simply bypass the queue in which I was the next in line to use the self-scanning register.

 “Excuse me! I was next.” I told him in Swedish.

“But I don’t know how it works” replied the Swede in his native tongue.

“There’s a queue and you have to wait” I told him while signalling with my thumb that he should bugger off to whence he came.

Seeing that I was in no mood for his rubbish, the man complied, albeit with a stupid look on his face.

I proceeded to scan my bottle of mineral water and was reaching into my wallet to take my cash out to pay for my purchase when the same SuperBenJohnsonSwede decided that it would be nicer if I paid for his frozen dinner as he promptly tried to scan his purchase prior to my payment.

“NEJ!!!!” I scolded him.

“But I don’t know how it works!” he tried again.

“You wait til I am finished and you pay for your own buddy!”

Then again, maybe it was just Swedish innovation once more – no, we’re not making you pay taxes anymore, that’s outdated. Now we have incompetents follow you around the supermarket and you have to buy their food for them instead.

Saves on bureaucracy.

Hmmm…on second thought, the idea of Swedes eliminating bureaucracy seems pretty unlikely.

I need a STARKÖL...

...better take a number.

Wednesday, July 18, 2012

ThePartyBus


Keanu Reeves had a bus that couldn't go below 50mph.

Harry Potter had the Knight Bus.

In Gothenburg, they have ThePartyBus.

Gotland and Zandra
Saturday night saw us venture out to the neighbouring island of Hisingen for a party on a mountaintop at Håberg (Sounds a bit like “whore-bare-yeah” ) for my friend Zandra, who is the partner of my friend known only by his place of birth, “Gotland” (his real name remains a State Secret).

After once again being forced to drink many shots and beers while being held captive by my Swedish inebriators, it was decided that we should move on to Gothenburg’s nightclubs.  But how to move a party off Hå-mountain and into the city? Does public transport even run at that hour? How much will taxis cost?  How many will we have to order?

“No, we’ll get ThePartyBus Jamie!”

Now in Australia, we have The Beer Bus. It’s the bus that gets you home at the end of the night when you are so heavily intoxicated that you cannot remember how you got home the next morning. How the hell did I get home last night? Hmmm…must have taken the beer bus. Rides on the beer bus are often followed by stints driving the porcelain bus, if you get what I mean.
But what the hell is ThePartyBus?

After being led by a friend who knew “a shortcut” which involved stumbling down the mountain through long grass and undergrowth and over rocky declines to the roadside, our group of 30 or so gathered together. 
“JurgenjurgenborkThePartyBus! BorkborkborkThePartyBus!” they discuss excitedly.

I ask Maria and her friend Sandra what the hell ThePartyBus is and whether it’s something well-known in Sweden.

“No idea” they tell me.

The answer soon reverberates over the horizon. As the bass lines break through the crisp Scandinavian air, the nearing sounds of electro house music behold the arrival of a London-style, red double-decker bus lit up in flashing neon.

“BORK BORK BOOOORKKK!!!! PARTYBUSSEN!!!!” exclaim the fever-pitched partygoers.
Pulling up alongside us, as I am about to board I ready my wallet to pay for my PartyBusFARE.

No cost on ThePartyBus! Just paaaaartaaay bork bork!

Climbing on to the upper level, beers are handed out, the beats encourage dancing in the aisles, pole dancing ensues, it’s mayhem. Laughter and smiles flood the deck as blonde hair is whipped back and forth and champagne flows.

THIS is ThePartyBus. 

...Better value than the Route 291 bus I used to take to school, I never once got a champagne on that for my $2.70 concession fare.  

Thursday, July 12, 2012

Can Elks Play Footy? Aussie Football in Sweden.

Johan Lantz, Captain of the Swedish Elks
Australian Rules Football is probably one of the last things you'd expect to find in Sweden. But all over Sweden, in Stockholm, Karlstad, Skåne, Malmö, right here in Göteborg and even into Oslo in Norway, the great Aussie game is played with passion.

Nic, Joel, Kalle and Christoffer from the Göteborg Berserkers
When I came to Sweden a number of years ago, I brought an Aussie football with me. A pretty distinctive signifier of meat-pie eatin', VB drinkin', fair dinkum oi-oi-oi shouter. Or in 'strine (Aussie-speak), we'd probably say it was an indicator that I was a "bloody bogan". But the thing was, holding my footy in a Malmö train station led to an Aussie ex-pat coming up to me and asking if I wanted to play footy for the local side. A bit astounded, I explained I was just on holidays,but this guy was insistent that I play even as I was jumping on my train to Gothenburg.

Berserkers Joel, Lars and Alan come off the field following a game.
So when I came back here for the best part of 2010, I got in touch with the local team, the Gothenburg Berserkers via their website.  My inquiry was met with a very enthusiastic response from a guy named Joel Språng (Yoo-el Sprawng) who invited me down to training. From the first night I was made to feel part of it and after a season in which we won the Sweden-West Championship and had a huge end of season trip to Dublin (which included playing Aussie Rules Football and International Rules Football for Oxford University), I made some amazing friends.

So it was a no-brainer that I wanted to catch up with the boys again this year, but due to the ankle surgery I had in December that has curtailed my career, this year I've been handed the coaching clipboard.

The thing that you have to get used to in coaching here is the need for bilingual addresses or having guys translate what you're saying after you've said it. The first time I ever explained Aussie footy in Swedish I made a bit of a blue. I was describing the large goal posts and using my forearm to visually demonstrate the tall vertical posts in our game.

Skåne, Stockholm and Göteborg combined sides after a closely fought game, won by a kick on the siren
"Vi har två stora stomparna..." I said, explaining that we had two large goal posts.

"...och två lite stomparna." adding that we have two little posts.

After my talk, I asked one of the more outgoing Swedes if my Swedish had been comprehensible, as the blank, expressionless faces of a Swedish audience gives little away.

"Yes, it was very interesting, but we didn't quite understand one bit. You said you kick the ball through two big amputated limbs?"

Apparently the word I was looking for was stolperna, not stomperna.

From such things we learn.

A BBQ between hosts Karlstad and Göteborg players
Well the games I've coached over here have unfortunately not gone our way, with the most recent game on the weekend being lost by less than a goal with the opposition scoring a goal on the final siren. They have however been terrific to watch, with the physicality very impressive, particularly from some recent ice-hockey converts who won't let the Aussie ex-pats side step them.

And of course Aussie rules is as much about the comradery off the field as on it. It's been great to enjoy BBQs and beers with teammates and oppositions alike following the games. Next games aren't til August, any coaching advice would be appreciated!

After match celebrations at Push : From left - Ylva, Trav, Jamie, Suzanne, Cam and a typically enthusiastic Joel

Monday, July 9, 2012

A Recipe For Liquid Gold

Flädersaft (Elderflower Cordial, pronounced "flair-der-sahft" in Swedish) is one of Sweden's favourite beverages in the Summer. And in keeping with my foray into foraged foods, this past week has seen me produce my first batch of Swedish homebrew liquid gold flädersaft.

It's a simple recipe, so I thought I'd share it with you in case you have access to an Elderflower (Fläderblom) tree.



 
Ingredients:
30 pieces of Elderflower
3 large lemons
1.5 litres of water
1.5 kg caster sugar
50 g citric acid


The method goes that you need to first ensure any bugs are removed from your elderflowers by rinsing them under water. After you've done this you can dissolve the caster sugar and citric acid into a large pot using boiling water, adding the chopped lemons at the end. Be sure to cover the lemons with the sugary water mix, otherwise they can go mouldy in the ensuing days. Same thing with the elderflowers - mix them in there and cover them with the mix if you can. You should smell a nice aroma as they mix with the water.


Next bit is nice and easy: Cover the pot and let it sit for a few days in a cool place. 


After 2-3 days you should have a nice mix of saft almost ready to go. Discard the lemons being sure not to mix any mouldy bits of lemons into the drink and pick out the big stems of elderflower.


You can now drain the remaining elderflower out by running it through a fine cloth and into a new container. 


And voila! You have delicious, refreshing, flädersaft.


For those with curiosity but without access to Elderflowers, you can find an inferior version of my AWESOME flädersaft at most Ikea stores. Enjoy with ice, lemon slices or even a little splash of vodka!



Forests Foods and Firsts

I ate mushrooms.

 

No, that isn't a typo.


Anyone who knows me knows my hatred of mushrooms. Mushroomaphobia some have called it. I call it "a lack of enjoyment of eating fungus". But Sweden has somehow managed to compel me to sample that which I have spent many years avoiding.

More on that later...

As a kid, I remember watching Norsca ads, where moist towelettes, soaps and deodorants probably made in a factory in China using artificial scents were sold to us in Australia as "Scandinavian Freshness" with people running around naked in beautiful green forests of pine trees and bathing beneath waterfalls.

Well, after spending the week in the beautiful city of Skövde (pronounced something like "Hwh-erh-v-deh"), I can confirm that these beautiful forest areas actually exist in real life. The bad news is that there were no beautiful naked Swedes bathing beneath the waterfalls. Only Norwegians.

The Swedish Forest is an amazing place. With millions of shades of green and a serenity that rivals Bonnie Doon, it holds delights to please every sense. It also holds ticks which can potentially paralyze you, but I was thankful that my "tour guide" thought to check me for ticks and found one on my stomach. Apparently it was attracted by my Van Halen t-shirt.  Talking of ticks, a weird Swedish fact is that when Swedes are marking things like exams or quizzes, they use ticks to indicate which questions you got wrong. Guess you'd be ticked off if you weren't aware.


But back to the Swedish forest and it's aural sensations.  This time of year is a great one to be out in the forests, as it's the time when the water runs strong over falls like the Silver Falls at Skövde and the blueberries and chanterelle mushrooms emerge from the forest floor. Armed with our instincts alone, Maria, her mum and I set out in search of our dinner in much the same way a nightclub leaver at 5am instinctively seeks out a kebab shop, hotdog stand or McDonalds using their well-honed survival skills. It didn't take us long to find what we were looking for.



Chanterelles are famed the world over amongst culinary connoisseurs, yet Maria had a job ahead of me if she thought that my enthusiasm for picking the fungi would translate to enthusiasm for eating them.  But sometimes we just have to trust, and knowing that Maria also has an aversion to mushrooms, her offer to eat them with me left me with less room to move than her rook left my King to move in our recent game of chess. And besides, she told me "You've eaten surströmming before, so I'm sure you'll be able to man up enough to eat these - they're not that bad..." 

"...Plus you can eat blueberry pie after as a reward."

Checkmate. She's a smart girl.

So with our forest haul in hand, we returned to make dinner. Well ok, Maria's mum made the dinner, but I kind of found some of it and I'm sure I kept the snakes away or something in the forest. Hey, I'm Aussie, that makes me like Steve Irwin or Crocodile Dundee right? All those years of wrestling drop bears has to be for something so I'm claiming it.

First course. Chantarelles, served with a bacon and garlic cream sauce on toast with tomatoes.

Mustering what courage I could, I took a bite.

No vomiting.

No gag reflex.

Edible. Surprised.

Took another bite...

...actually not bad.

In fact I went on to eat the whole plate of them. Proudly, I can now say "Mushrooms, I have defeated you!"

But let's not have a rematch any time soon.

And now let's pause for a moment to see my reward:



Homemade, handpicked, fresh blueberry pie, tasted as good as it looks and sounds. The Swedes have a great name for a place that you love, your special place. Your "Smultron Ställe" ("Wild Strawberry Place"). I think Skövde might just at least go down as my new "Blåbär Ställe" ("Blueberry Place")...





  



Thursday, June 28, 2012

Sverige För Nybörjare, Lektion 1. Sweden for Beginners, Lesson 1.


Svenska Tänkesätten - The Swedish Mindset

"One day, my little viking, this will be all yours to plunder..."

As Jens retraces his footsteps in the supermarket aisle, he sighs with frustration and utters aloud to me “I need to clear my head…”

Having been up since 5am with his 1 year old son, it’s understandable that he’s forgetting what was on his mental shopping list.
“…Wait a minute. My head is clear. I think that is the problem.”
A wonderful host, Jens has a typically Swedish offbeat sense of humour.  The same typically offbeat sense of humour I sense resides in some worker in the Ikea factory who routinely omits a wooden peg or allen key from Expedit bookshelves and laughs themself to sleep at night thinking of some irate person in Germany getting very frustrated about it.

Språken (Del Ett) - The Language (Part One)

Contrary to popular opinion (further perpetuated by yours truly), “Bork bork bork” and “jurdy jurdy” are not actually Swedish expressions.  No, they’re Norwegian.

Actually, Maria explained the difference between Swedish and the other Scandinavian languages to me the other day. Apparently Norwegian “is a bit like Swedish, except it sounds like you are really, really happy”, while Danish “is a bit like Swedish, except it sounds like you are throwing up”.
It’s been great being back and seeing the familiar words and signs around town like farthinder, kök, slutstation, badrum, hår (pronounced “whore”) and others that I had missed so dearly.  And everyone loves a good infart.  Have some fun looking them up on Google Translate if you’re curious.

Kulturen - The Culture
Dancing "Små Groderna" (Small Frogs) around the Midsommar Stången at Särö.

Swedish Midsummer is the highlight of the Nordic social calendar alongside such mainstays as “Waffle Day”, “Cream Bun Day” and “Girl With Candles In Her Hair Bringing You Coffee Day”.

With light visible on the horizon til after midnight (it comes back up before 3am), it provides a long day in which to have a few drinks with friends.  So you’d think if you were going to dance around a phallic pole complete with macro-orchidistic gonadal adornments hanging from it whilst singing and pretending to be a small frog, it would probably be at the end of the day. But no, that’s just the beginning.
The view from Jens' place at Särö.
Midsummer saw me join Jens in his childhood home mansion on the pragmatically named island of Särö (Particular Island).  It was great seeing a number of old friends for a midsummer feast including a lot of raw herring and copious amounts of aquavit (snaps).  Part of the tradition of midsummer is singing snapsvisor (drinking songs) with titles like “Piss in the Bed” (this particular song was introduced to me at a dinner party amongst respectable Rotarians).
Midsommarafton.
The occasion brought back to me the first time I partook in a midsummer lunch (midsommarafton) and my introduction to snapsvisor. As we were preparing to sing Sweden’s most famous drinking song, a ditty by the name of “Helan Går”, it was explained to me that one should “take the whole thing” after you finish the song and offer a resounding “Skål!” (“Cheers!”)  to all on the table. Apparently if you don’t take the whole thing, it’s not worth even having a little.  So take the whole thing.

I've actually been to the castle (Läckö Slott) in 2009.
The aquavit comes in a minibar size bottle and tends to be fairly potent, so when these drinking songs started up every 5 minutes, I have to confess I began to worry about the “sustainability” of “taking the whole thing”.  By the 5th bottle in less than half an hour, I was regretting having already finished a number of beers before lunch and wondered if it wouldn’t be the last time today I would see the raw fish and dill potatoes I’d just devoured. I turned to my friend and asked how the hell they could “take the whole one” repeatedly with the impunity to alcohol they seemed to exhibit.
“You’re taking the whole bottle for each one?!” he replied.
“Yeah, you told me to!” I responded.
“But no! That’s just the name of the first song – ‘Helan Går’ – ‘Take the whole thing’. Those were just words for that song, not instructions for every song the whole day!”

Språken (Del Två) - The Language (Part 2).

Jävlar svenskar. Goddamn Swedes.  

Vad Har Hänt - The Happenings

The night sky at 12:30am.

After a 47 hour trip to get here with a huge layover in Beijing airport, the past week and a bit has been a great one, catching up with a number of old friends, making new friends and seeing the beautiful Swedish countryside resplendent again in all its very green mid-summer glory.  

 There’s been a visit to Hjo (pronounced “You” and making the most of its “I Love Hjo” campaign) to see my Group Study Exchange family there, catchups with friends in Gothenberg (or Göteborg, pronounced something like Yurt-eh-boy), a visit to Skövde (I won’t even explain the various ways of pronouncing that town) to meet Maria’s family and friends and much more. Planning another trip to Skövde and a trip to Malmö soon as well as a trip to Karlstad to help coach the Gothenburg Berserkers Australian Rules Football team.  There’s already been moose, deer, Volvos, Ikeas, forrest walks, quizzes, kebab pizzas and loads of fika, so I’m looking forward to plenty more. Feels good to be back. 

Språken (Del Tre) - The Language (Part 3).

Livet är gott.  Life is good.  

Bork Bork Bork!