A Californian living in Sweden

Tag: Scandinavia

A Little Bit of California for Breakfast

IMG_9730When we arrived in Malmö in June, I felt like I had survived a decluttering marathon. We had lived in our Malibu house for six years. Our kids had literally grown up there, as evidenced by the pencil scratched benchmarks on the kitchen doorway and the two closets full of toys in my son’s bedroom. Sorting through our accumulation of life was not easy.

We had amassed six years of stuff, the usual clothes and books, tools and toys, furniture. But there was also a pile of stuff the kids had also grown out of — books and toys, stuffed animals that used to be friends, games we never got around to playing. I knew it would be silly to ship most of it to Sweden, and just as silly to let it sit in storage. But it was not easy to let it go. I felt like I was letting go of my kids’ childhood, which, to be honest, I needed to do. Healthy mothers nurture and equip and release their young adults to their full potential without making them feel guilty for growing up. I know this. I want that for myself and my teenagers.

So in the weeks leading up to our move I gave my friends most of the books, games, dishes and random things that I thought they might want. We sold other things on Craigslist, but on the day before we left California there was still a car load full of donations to go to the thrift store.

The whole process was emotional and exhausting, and in the end, rushed. So much so that I had several moments during the three-month interim period between our moving-out day and our moving-in day that I could not remember if a particular item was in the anticipated shipment or if we had given it away.

Even so we ended up bringing things we did not need, and we gave away a few that we had to repurchase in Sweden. Already I have looked around for at least one book that I wish I had kept.  But really, most of our material possessions needed to go. It is good to move on when you move on.

We accidentally packed rocks.

But even so, there are a few items, really just a few, that I have been very happy to have with us in our new apartment life in Malmö. The Vitamix is near the top of that list.

IMG_9731We had to get a huge transformer to make sure we did not burn out the Vitamix engine on the 230 volts piping through our electric outlets here, and after blowing a few power fuses, we have worked out a system to make it run in our Swedish kitchen. It works pretty well.

This morning I got up, despite the persistent October grey, and went for a run. When I came home I made an awesome blueberry, banana, almond smoothie. It was perfect, the true breakfast of champions, not unlike so many Malibu post-run breakfast smoothies. And as I ran the Vitamix I thought about how this transcontinental move is all about that process– simplifying, moving out into the unknown and living this next part of life well. But in the end a familiar purple smoothie just makes it all sweeter and a little easier to swallow.

 

 

Möllevångstorget

Möllevångstorget_2017-2Möllevångstorget, a cobblestone square characterized by The Honor of Work, a giant statue of men and at least one woman holding up a giant rock embossed with the image of an industrialized city, is its own center of Malmö.

A hundred years ago, this square, surrounded by new factories and recently urbanized residents, was the birthplace of the Labor Movement in Sweden. You could even say Swedish socialism has its roots here. Today it is still a working class neighborhood, a multicultural hub, a living testament to the extent of immigration in Malmö, a place you can Google on YouTube and see a pandemonium of illegal fireworks from last New Years Eve.

I go there to buy cheap fruits and vegetables, and I love it.

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A couple of weeks ago I braved the unknown and rode my bike to Möllevångstorget on a quest to find the farmers market. When I got there I was shocked by how much cheaper the vegetables and fruit were there than in the regular Swedish grocery stores. They were even cheaper than produce in US grocery stores.

In southern California going to the farmers market is a wonderful experience, but it is hardly cheaper than shopping in the national chain grocery stores. Last time I went to the farmer’s market in Santa Monica, I don’t think $10 bought more than a handful of apples and a couple of avocados, maybe a head of lettuce.

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No she is not Sweden’s first female prime minister. The 100kr bill celebrates this classic Hollywood movie star who was born in Stockholm.

Today I spent 100 kroner, currently worth about $12 and got 2 onions, 6 potatoes, 8 lemons, 4 tangerines, 3 apples, 3 avocados, a bag of green beans, a bunch of bananas, 30 eggs and a giant head of lettuce. I don’t think it is all organic, and given the state of sunshine in Sweden, probably not all local either. I have yet to see a banana farm in Skåne. But it is fresh produce, whole foods, and a whole lot better than frozen pizzas.

When we visited Malmö for the first time last April, the hotel desk clerk told us not to go past a neighborhood called Davidshall. He specifically said not to go to this farmer’s market, so in my mind it was on the “no go” list.

It should not have been.

Möllevång is a colorful place at the crossroads of busy bicycle paths where more people commute on two wheels than four. Traditionally ethnic Swedes and more recent immigrants mingle in the farmer’s market.  Most of the vendors converse in Arabic to their clients in hijabs, Swedish to everyone else. I like it because I have to remember my basic numbers in Swedish as the vendors often do not speak English.

The neighborhood surrounding Möllevångstorget is an “ethnic” food lover’s cornucopia. Restaurants from every Asian and Middle Eastern variety crowd the streets leading up to, and surrounding, the square. Indian, Lebanese, Persian, Chinese, Vietnamese are all well represented there. Last week we had Thai, not exactly like our beloved Thai Town in East Hollywood, but not bad for northern Europe. I would go back.

Like so many hipster neighborhoods in US cities, Möllevångstorget also has the atmosphere of a community on the verge of a vibrant economic upswing. I get the feeling that younger Swedish workers live there, ignoring the graffiti and double locking their bikes. One of our single Swedish neighbors told me she plans to buy an apartment near Möllevångstorget next year.  And I can understand why. It is affordable and it feels alive. It is easily one of my favorite Malmö surprises.

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Pippin is curious, always curious.

 

Today I Mailed a Letter

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“Theresa Mailed a Letter.”

That title reminds me more of a children’s book than an adult expat’s blog. But the thing is, I am kind of like a child here. Someone on one of my social media groups said it best when another member was complaining about the difficulty of finding work here without knowing Swedish. He said, “Look, basically you are like a four-year-old until you learn their language. “

And he is right. I have to ask for everything, in English, and hope that the clerk will be happy to oblige me in my ignorance.  Luckily for me, right now, Swedish people seem to really enjoy speaking in English. English is taught universally in schools, so speaking English well is a mark of education, prestige. The only non-English speakers are older Swedes and immigrants from non-English speaking countries. And even then, older Swedes often understand English but are shy about using it.

I understand that too.  I am picking up new words every day, especially written words, but I am a little terrified of having to actually use them. It is not helpful to my long-term learning that everyone is so quick to put me out of my misery and converse in English.

One small advantage that I have is that I look like I should speak Swedish, so often clerks speak to me in Swedish first and I make it a game to see how far I can go without admitting that I have no idea what they have just said. There have been many times that I have interacted with a cashier, never saying a word, only understanding half of what he said, and he never knew it. I am pretty good with nonverbal cues, and it is amazing how far that goes.

Hi.

Is this all you want?

Great. Put your credit card there.

Sign there.

Take that stuff you just bought.

See you later.

Tack!

But some basic adult life tasks require more than just language acquisition skills. Simply being able to speak the same language is not enough. Customs and etiquette are different. In fact, the whole government system of health care and schools and registration is just a little bit different here. A small task that I took for granted at home can seem like a mini crisis here, like mailing a registration form to a government office.

So let’s break it down.

The first step is to translate the form. That is not too difficult with Google Translate, but even if Google Translate fails, I can always call the government office, wait on hold forever while thinking about my American mobile phone bill’s international calling plan. Once I have the form filled, I have to get to a post office and mail it.

And here is complication number two. It has been explained to me that Sweden does not have post offices any more. They don’t use checks either, so if you need to make a payment that is a whole different set of hoops beginning with trips to the migration office and the tax office, then fingerprinting and official ID photographs, culminating in several in-person, appointment-only visits to the bank before you can make an electronic payment.  It literally takes weeks, if not months, before you can electronically send someone money, a big problem for newcomers in an almost cashless society.

But assuming that all I need to do is mail the form, I have found that it works to smile and ask people in English, “Excuse me, how do I mail a letter?”

And if they are heartless and under 30 they look at you like you are a 4-year-old.

Duh. Put a stamp on it and put it in one of the yellow boxes that are everywhere.

But where do I get a stamp if there are no post offices?

You can buy them at grocery stores, office supply stores. You know, the same places that you can buy stamps in the US.

Oh, of course. I can do that.

And they are right. It is really easy. Even a 4-year-old could do it.

A Drizzly Saturday Morning in the Park

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I was right about the sunshine, wrong about the rain.

The sunshine did not last. Saturday morning, I woke up to grey clouds and a deep desire to get out, go for a run, breathe deeply into life. By the time I got out the door the unforgiving sky was threatening to rain. Then came a fine sprinkle and then a full London-style, persistent, wet drizzle that could almost count as rain. But I ran to the park anyway and found that unlike any 50-degree rainy Saturday in California, the park was packed, completely full of people. And it began to occur to me that Swedish people are not hindered by the California delusion that sunshine is necessary for outdoor enjoyment.

There were the usual outside people, the kind that don’t really have a choice, dog owners. But there were also plenty of other people strolling along the park’s extensive paths — couples with babies, family’s with little children on little bikes, runners of all ages, single people walking, running, just enjoying being outside in their water-resistant clothing. I saw plenty of red-cheeked smiles.

I was not wearing water resistant clothing so I was quite sweaty and rain drenched by the time I stopped at the library, which was also full of people enjoying a rainy Saturday morning in the relative tranquility of Malmö’s public library.

This place, by the way, is beautiful. Located on the edge of Malmö’s Slottsparken, this urban library is a modern architectural masterpiece. Half of the library is old, a castle-like museum that has housed books for seventy years. The other half, which was finished in the late 90s, is a massive glass box, ushering light into the main hall of bookshelves, illuminating even the grayest of days. This half is called a “Calendar of Light,” and is a perfect example of modern Scandinavian genius for drawing the light inside. I love it.

While at the library I picked up a stack of travel books to help us plan our fall escape. Our son has a week off from school at the end of October and has already planned to make his first solo international trip, going home to visit friends in LA. Kip took the week off from work, so now we just have to decide where to go. Spain? Italy? Morocco?

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We both want to get a little autumn sunshine, but we don’t want to break the bank either. I find myself checking historical weather averages of different places within reasonable travel distance. If we are going to travel, it would be nice to get a little unbottled, natural Vitamin D. I know that there is joy in the rain, but I still want to find a little sun, just for a week in October before the real winter arrives.

 

 

 

A Moment of Sunshine

I woke up to a patch of blue sky warming the cold streets where pedestrians were still scurrying, faces against the wind, hurrying on to work and the places they always go on a Friday morning.

It looked like the little blueness would work into full sunshine, if only for an hour before the clouds picked up in the afternoon. Maybe I was in a cynical mood, but I thought about Ray Bradbury’s short story, “Summer in a Day,” and felt that I had to get out. As quickly as possible.

Since I don’t yet have a place to go in the middle of a Friday morning, I grabbed my bike, the one I have hardly ridden since college but somehow made it on the shipment from California. And I rode across Malmö.

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Malmö is small and covered in designated bike paths, so it is not difficult to ride across it in less than an hour.

I rode to the beach and walked out onto one of the piers. There was a trio of older women walking together, touching hands, laughing, speaking a middle eastern language I did not recognize, letting the gentle sea breezes tease the scarfs around their faces while they posed for a picture together. A Scandinavian man rode his bicycle to the pier, walked past the women in their coats and scarves, stripped down to his shorts and jumped into the frigid ocean water. That is so Malmö.

I rode up the beach, into neighborhoods I did not know, ones still transitioning from the old industrial shipping docks to modern apartments. A few fishing boats clung to the docks, reminding the present of the past. Even human infrastructure has a limited purpose, a time and a day, a moment of usefulness. Abandoned rails nearly hidden in the sidewalk testify to that. I wondered when the newly constructed apartment buildings along the docks would be outdated and laughable.

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I stopped to observe a swan family. The “ugly ducklings,” almost the size of their mother paddled behind her gracefully, effortlessly gliding along. I wondered if they would stay for winter or fly somewhere south. I wondered when they would grow white feathers and look like their parents.

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The cob stayed behind, nonchalantly guarding his flock while serendipitously eating the water plants growing at the edge of the bay. This summer I saw a swan attack a golden retriever that had gotten to close to his cygnets. I wondered if this was the same bird. I kept a respectful distance.

Then I rode home, feeling warmed by the sun.

 

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