Florence

Florence, in addition to being a lovely girl who attended my elementary school, is also, apparently, a little-known city in the little-known Tuscany region of the little-known country, Italy. Today, Florence is best remembered for being the stomping ground of the Medici family, the birthplace of the Renaissance, and a lovely girl who attended my elementary school*. I frankly hadn’t expected to be terribly impressed by Florence. Yes, Florence is historically rich and has more treasured artwork per capita than almost any city in the world, but I’ve seen old European cities before, and they were nothing to write home about. Especially if you consider “home” at this point to be the average of England, America, and Sweden – floating around somewhere in the Atlantic.


*Yes, this blog is SO popular that anyone mentioned in it gains instant fame. You’re welcome, Elizabeth, Laura, and Djibouti

However, I was forced to rescind my pre-visit scoffing, because Florence is gorgeous. The city ain’t bad either.

The first place we visited was a lovely little open air market. It was crowded, of course, and touristy, but a lot of fun. There are no cars in the town of Florence (rather like Venice), so there was a lovely, walkable quality to the city that most other cities lack. The painted plaster walls are very Florentine architecture and also, incidentally, look quite a bit like Swedish architecture in the older parts of town, such as Gamla Stan. Florence is apparently well-known for its leather products, so I bought my lovely friend Hester* a belt there, as well as a moderately tasty lunch sandwich.

*Start barricading against the paparazzi now, Hester

After lunch, we wandered over to the magnificent Duomo, a portion of which is shown above. Florence is a very small city, so it was easy for us to walk from attraction to attraction within only ten minutes or so. It was a beautiful day as well, especially when gelato was factored into the equation (which it was), and was altogether a perfect time for wandering.

Here is a picture of another portion of the Duomo.

My parents were so struck by the majesty of the Duomo that they tried to jump in the air simultaneously. Sadly, their efforts were only rewarded with some very goofy photographs. Judging by my sister and myself, goofiness appears to be a heritable trait. I suggest that the geneticists at MIT get to work identifying that gene.

After the Duomo, we wandered over to the creatively named Ponte Vecchio, or “Old Bridge”. As my more astute readers will have gathered from the name, the Ponte Vecchio is, indeed, the oldest of Florence’s six bridges. It is also rather unique in that it has shops on both side of the street on the bridge. Apparently London Bridge boasted a similar setup until it fell down, as immortalized in the beloved-yet-faintly-depressing nursery rhyme.

Here is another photograph of the Ponte Vecchio, this one taken from the bridge itself.

This is not a photograph of anything in particular, but I hope it will give you a feel for the sort of old meandering Italian architecture and street layout that gave Florence such a distinct feel.

Sadly, the time did come to say farewell to Florence. We were sorry to leave, but I think the Florentinis were fairly relieved to see the crazy jumping Americans leave. Which, incidentally, was excactly what Florence in Belmont thought when I switched schools in fifth grade.

Vatican City and Rome

Early on the morning of July 13, the Roe family arrived in Rome and promptly ran as fast as we could to catch a 9 am tour of Vatican City. Vatican City, as my well-educated and enlightened readers are sure to know, is the world’s smallest independent state, with a population of under 1,000. This low population and the nature of the state leads to a few other interesting facts, that are not particularly surprising in and of themselves, but which make for good trivia: Vatican City is the richest country in the world per capita, and also has the least balanced gender ratio (of the 1,000 inhabitants, the only women are the 300 or so nuns). Interestingly, Vatican City’s status as an independent nation is much newer than I originally thought – it was only officially established in 1929. Another little-known fact about the Vatican is that the state (Vatican City) and the Holy See actually issue different passports, although both are very difficult to come by. Vatican City is a walled country, and I learned all these facts during the half hour or so wait to get inside, during which time I also developed a hearty appreciation of my own sweat glands and a hearty dislike for other peoples'. After this time had elapsed, we were pushed through security and entered the smallest sovereign state in the world.

One of the first things we saw upon entering the country was this rather large sculpture, prominently featured in the center of the courtyard. It was made by a rather well-known modern sculptor whose name I have since forgotten. I personally know about as much about sculptures as your typical slime mold, but apparently it represents the Vatican’s ability to connect to the world even in turbulent modern times.

It was easy to spot St. Peter’s Basilica, because it is the tallest building in the Vatican and also the largest cathedral in the world. It is built upon St. Peter’s death spot, and is the reason that Vatican City is located here instead of on some other square mile in Italy. On a slightly more personal note, St. Peter has inspired me to add Founding a Country to the list of things I do before after I die.

The interior was even more imposing than the exterior. The number of statues like these went far to convince me that Vatican City is, in fact, the richest city in the world.

To give you a sense of scale, the letters you can see in this photograph are 12 feet high. I am the shortest person in my family, and as you can imagine, this building gave me even more of a height-related inferiority complex.
Having seen all these sights, we left Vatican City. Because all roads lead to Rome, we shortly found ourselves there. Fortunately we took a road that also led to lunch, which was fairly delicious. Unfortunately, by the time we finished our lunch, we were almost out of time in Rome. We did, however, manage to stop by the Colosseum, which is, of course, one of the major tourist attractions in Rome.

The Colosseum, which hosted many of the famed gladiator fights of ancient Rome, is actually really interesting because, like the Parthenon, it is right in the middle of a bustling city. Having been raised in the relatively new cities of the United States, I found it a bit... different to have ruins rising only a few meters from traffic and sidewalks. However, I shortly got used to the juxtaposition, and am now heartily disappointed that Boston doesn't have an ancient monument to Russell Crowe in the middle of Beacon Hill.

Unfortunately, we had to leave Rome before exploring any more than just the Colosseum, but it's definitely on the To Re-Visit List next time I'm in Italy. Now Mum just has to win another contest for another free vacation...

Vatican City and Rome

Early on the morning of July 13, the Roe family arrived in Rome and promptly ran as fast as we could to catch a 9 am tour of Vatican City. Vatican City, as my well-educated and enlightened readers are sure to know, is the world’s smallest independent state, with a population of under 1,000. This low population and the nature of the state leads to a few other interesting facts, that are not particularly surprising in and of themselves, but which make for good trivia: Vatican City is the richest country in the world per capita, and also has the least balanced gender ratio (of the 1,000 inhabitants, the only women are the 300 or so nuns). Interestingly, Vatican City’s status as an independent nation is much newer than I originally thought – it was only officially established in 1929. Another little-known fact about the Vatican is that the state (Vatican City) and the Holy See actually issue different passports, although both are very difficult to come by. Vatican City is a walled country, and I learned all these facts during the half hour or so wait to get inside. After this time had elapsed, we were pushed through security and entered the smallest sovereign state in the world.

One of the first things we saw upon entering the country was this rather large sculpture, prominently featured in the center of the courtyard. It was made by a rather well-known modern sculptor whose name I have since forgotten. Apparently it represents the Vatican’s ability to connect to the world even in turbulent modern times.

It was easy to spot St. Peter’s Basilica, because it is the tallest building in the Vatican and also the largest cathedral in the world. It is built upon St. Peter’s death spot, and is the reason that Vatican City is located here instead of on some other square mile in Italy.

The interior was even more imposing than the exterior. The number of statues like these went far to convince me that Vatican City is, in fact, the richest city in the world.

To give you a sense of scale, the letters you can see in this photograph are 12 feet high. No, they didn’t seem that big in person either… but they were high up, and our tour guide pinky swore that it was so, so I believe her.

Having seen all these sights, we left Vatican City. Because all roads lead to Rome, we shortly found ourselves there. Fortunately we took a road that also led to lunch, which was fairly delicious. Unfortunately, by the time we finished our lunch, we were almost out of time in Rome. We did, however, manage to stop by the Colosseum, which is, of course, one of the major tourist attractions in Rome.

The Colosseum, which hosted many of the famed gladiator fights of ancient Rome, is actually really interesting because, like the Parthenon, it is right in the middle of a bustling city. Having been raised in the relatively new cities of the United States, I found it a bit disconcerting to have ruins rising only a few meters from traffic and sidewalks.

Mykonos and Naples

Having left Turkey in our wake, the next stop on the Roe Mediterranean Cruise Extravaganza was Mykonos, a little Greek island. Unfortunately, we only had a total of about half a day in Mykonos (are you detecting a theme here?), but we still got a chance to wander the island, see vacationing Greeks and a few native Mykonans, and see the delightful Greek quaintness.

Here is a beautiful little seaside church. As you can tell somewhat from the photograph, this church is incredibly tiny – I would say that it could fit a maximum of about fifteen people, and that would be rather crowded. The white walls and colored roof are very characteristic of architecture in Mykonos, and probably elsewhere in Greece as well. The buildings are apparently painted white because ants tend not to crawl on white things, and Mykonos is a major producer of ants.

Mykonos is also relatively famous for its windmills, which are several centuries old and are all aligned along the coast. They’re quite a bit different in their construction from your typical quixotic windmill, in that they have quite a bit more spokes and have removable sails (in this picture, the sails are down). You can see a little bit of the thatched roof here, as well.

Shortly before lunch, the Roe family had the honor of meeting Petros III, a local denizen. Petros’ grandfather, Petros I, was apparently discovered injured in Mykonos by locals, who took him in and nurtured him back to health back around World War II. Petros then founded a dynasty of pelicans that have had their run of the island, enjoying the choicest of scraps from the local restaurants and mating with only the most beautiful local pelicans.

After lunch, we wandered around the narrow little streets of Mykonos for a few hours before returning back to the ship and embarking for…

Naples!

OK, I’ll admit that I’m being a wee bit misleading here. The Roe family didn’t actually spend very much time at all in Naples the city. Instead, we piled onto a bus that traversed some alarmingly narrow mountain roads and, after about an hour, arrived at a beautiful little organic farm only about a mile from the sea. At one point, the bus stopped to allow photographs of the coast, as shown below:

Woefully, my camera died at this point, so I have no more photos of Naples. Here is a condensed version of what happened in Naples:

Farm = Beautiful

Sorrento = Crowded

Gelato = Delicious

Istanbul (Not Constantinople)

I had a date in Constantinople, but she was waiting in Istanbul.


As you may recall from the song, Istanbul was not always so named. Actually, the etymology of Istanbul goes even further back than that. Originally, the city was a Greek city called Byzantium, chosen for its advantageous location on the Bosphorus Strait, named for its founder, Byzas. When the Roman Empire overtook the failing Greek empire, the Emperor Constantine quickly realized how strategically Byzantium was located, and chose to center his newly founded Holy Roman Empire around the city. Naturally, Constantine changed the name from the original Greek, and the city was named after its new emperor – Constantinople. When the Roman Empire fell, the Ottoman Empire claimed the city and, unsurprisingly, didn’t want their new capital city named after a Roman Emperor. Instead, they changed the city’s name once more to Istanbul. The fact that Istanbul has been at the center of three empires (Greek, Roman, and Ottoman/Turkish) means that there is a huge diversity of architecture, monuments, and sights, so prepare yourself for some pretty neat sights.

One question that soon presented itself in my mind is why Istanbul, which is the economic, cultural, and historical capital of Turkey, in addition to its largest city, is no longer the political capital. It turns out that Atatürk, the founder of modern Turkey, overthrew the government that was centered in Istanbul in the 1920s and had to organize his subversive activities far outside the capital. So where did he organize this rebellion? You guessed it! (But not really). Ankara! Atatürk centered his government around Ankara, and it has remained the capital of Turkey ever since.

Alright, enough Turkish history, and onward to the fabulous adventures of Katie in Istanbul!

Here is one of the first sights I saw in Istanbul. It is an Egyptian obelisk that is Really Old (about 3000 years, I think) that some emperor or another ordered moved to Byzantium or Constantinople or Istanbul from Egypt. It probably has some historical significance other than that, but I seem to have forgotten it. Oops.

Also, it wasn’t actually slanted. That’s just bad photography on the part of Yours Truly.

Next, we walked about 300 meters to the rather imposing Blue Mosque, which is shown in a somewhat truncated photograph above. The Blue Mosque was apparently built by a Muslim emperor in the 17th century who wanted to rival the famous Haga Sophia church, which is shown a few paragraphs on (this is a chronological tour, so no complaints!). There is a funny story associated with the Blue Mosque – apparently most minarets have one, two, or sometimes four minarets, but the Blue Mosque has six. According to our tour guide, the emperor told the chief architect that he wanted a mosque with gold minarets. The architect, however, knew that the common people would all steal the gold off of the minarets, and the mosque would be destroyed within months. The architect craftily noticed that the word “gold” and “six” are almost identical in Turkish, so he instead designed a mosque with six minarets. When the emperor complained to him, the architect claimed that he had misheard, and thought that the emperor wanted a mosque with six minarets! What a clever clogs.

This is a picture of the interior of the Blue Mosque. The entire interior is made of mosaics. Impressive, no?

Next, we came to Hagia Sophia, the church that the Blue Mosque was built to best. Hagia Sophia’s exterior looks like a slightly smaller version of the Blue Mosque. What makes it truly amazing, however, is its age – Haga Sophia was built in the 6th century AD, and has remained intact ever since. Although it was originally a churich, it was later converted to a mosque, and finally to a museum (which it remains today).

This is the interior of Hagia Sophia – the place was blinking enormous!

Here is one of the many murals covering the walls of Hagia Sophia. At one point, they were covered over by Islamic murals, but the murals were removed when Hagia Sophia became a museum.

This building is very historically important. I can’t remember why, but I have enough pictures of it that I know it merits some sort of explanation. I am sorry to fail you, dear reader, but I have no explanation to offer.

Our final stop in Istanbul was the famed Turkish bazaar, the largest indoor bazaar in the world. I have been to a number of markets all over the world – everywhere from Quincy Market in Boston to Chinese, Cambodian, and Thai markets, and the Istanbul market was one of the nicest I have ever been to. Not only was the area very clean, but the venders themselves were very kind and were genuinely helpful. I was pleasantly surprised by how easy and pleasant shopping was here – in parts of China, for example, I often found that I couldn’t even walk past a shop without being practically chased into the street by the shop’s owner trying to sell me something.

A few purchases later, it was sadly time to get back on board the boat and head off for Greece again. I was sad to leave Istanbul, but I’m sure I’ll be back – I’d love to visit Constantinople at some point, and I hear it’s in the area.

Athens and Kuşadası

Early on the morning of July 7th, we arrived in Athens, Greece. Athens, the capital and largest city of Greece, dominates the Attica periphery; as one of the world’s oldest cities, its history spans around 3,400 years. The previous sentence was in no way, shape, or form copied from the Wikipedia article on Athens. Any similarities between this blog post and the aforementioned Wikipedia article are entirely coincidence, and are certainly not due to unabashed plagiarism. Really.*

*Not really.

My family had decided beforehand that we didn’t want the typical tourist experience during our brief stay in Athens. We wanted to avoid the tourist traps and mobs of foreigners. We wanted to see the authentic city and culture as the locals did. That is to say, we decided to visit the Parthenon, shown in the obligatory Touristy Parthenon Photograph below:

Something I found rather intriguing about the Parthenon and surrounding area is how close the ancient temple and the modern city are. I suppose that it makes sense that the ruins should be smack in the center of town, because with three and a half millennia of uninterrupted inhabitation, it wouldn’t make sense for modern Athens to be any great distance from ancient Athens. Nevertheless, I found juxtaposed views like this one quite breathtaking:

Sadly, after only six hours in Athens, it was time to pack up and return to the ship, all set to embark to…

Kuşadası!

We arrived in Kuşadası*, Turkey, at about 6 am on July 8th. As in Athens, we only had about six hours, so we took a guided tour in order to see as much as possible in our limited time. A little background: Kuşadası is a small seaside city on the Asia Minor portion of Turkey, meaning that it was my mother’s and sister’s first time in Asia (I spent about three and a half weeks in Asia in December and January). The town itself is quite touristy, with a summertime population of about ten times its winter numbers. In Kuşadası’s case, the extensive tourism is certainly deserved, because Kuşadası is very close to the Ephesian ruins. The ancient Greek city of Ephesus is home to an archaeological site larger than Pompeii, one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient Word (The Temple of Artemis), Saint John’s Basilica, and what is generally regarded as the Virgin Mary’s final resting place. The inhabitants of Ephesus also had the distinction of having a Biblical book written to them (the Book of Ephesians).

*I like writing about Kuşadası because I feel very clever typing the funky ş and ı

Above is a photograph of the exterior of the Virgin Mary’s House. This is actually a reconstruction of the original, which collapsed at some point over the centuries between its initial construction and when it was rediscovered by the Holy Roman Empire. Nevertheless, the foundations remained intact, and it was upon these original foundations that this reconstruction was built. I was surprised by how modest the house was – the final resting place of Saint Mary is a very important and holy place for billions of people around the world, and I was surprised that it had remained the same humble house that Mary herself had lived and died in. Near the shrine was a wall covered with prayers in dozens of languages written on cloth.

After seeing the Virgin Mary’s shrine, we continued our exploration of Christian history by visiting the remains of St. John’s Basilica, a photograph of which is shown below. I learned in Kuşadası that a church must contain a relic of the person for whom it is named in order to qualify as a Basilica; however, dear reader, please take this definition with a grain of salt, as I was unable to find corroboration anywhere on the Internet. St. John’s Basilica was supposedly built upon the spot where the Saint himself died, making it one of the most significant religious ruins in the world.

At this point, the poor Roe family was very overheated and exhausted – I assure you, Turkey in July is not for the faint of heart! Nevertheless, we managed to pull together a last rally and visit the ruins of Ephesus before returning to the ship. As I mentioned before, Ephesus is one of the largest ancient Greek ruins in the world, although it is currently only 15% excavated. A lot of work is still being done in the area, and we spotted a few archaeologists running around with their very professional looking tools during our exploration.

Here is a photograph that shows a very, very, very small portion of the excavated ruins of Ephesus. Ephesus is located in a valley and surrounded by mountains, and you can see a hint of the scrubby hills all around it behind the ruins.

Venice

Now, my dear reader, the next half dozen or so posts are going to chronicle a Mediterranean cruise I took with my family from July 4 to 16, courtesy of More Magazine (my lovely and talented mother won a contest that they sponsored… well done, Mum!).


The ship, which carried over 3000 (!!) passengers and probably caused the world’s ocean levels to rise several inches when it was constructed in 2008, embarked from Venice, giving me the chance to see the city for the first time. But before exploring Venice, I got to see a very special celebrity, here seen posing as a Greek goddess with a ‘tude:

It’s OK if you don’t recognize this particular celebrity. She hasn’t yet made her debut, but I’m pretty sure she’s going to be the Next Big Thing. This is Elizabeth Roe, my 11-year-old sister whom I have not seen for six months and at least two inches. When she gets famous and changes her surname to something less reminiscent of fish eggs, remember you saw her here first.

After unpacking and having a quick nap in the hotel, Mum, Dad, Elizabeth, and I ventured out into Venice in search of dinner. After a bit of wandering, we stumbled upon one of Venice’s major landmarks: the beautiful St. Mark’s Basilica, displayed in Figure 2 below:

Figure 2: St. Mark’s Basilica

Unfortunately, the Basilica was under construction. Nevertheless, the square was teeming with life, full of young couples, musicians, and a few entrepreneurial spirits attempting to sell innocent passers-by anything under the sun. Fortunately, we managed to escape from the square without buying anything and continued on our quest for a tasty Venetian dinner. After wandering through more twisted streets than I could hope to remember and asking for directions approximately 213 times, we managed to find a lovely restaurant, tucked far away from the main waterways, cathedrals, street signs, and any other imaginable landmarks to help us find our way home. Dinner was delicious, and consumed far too quickly to be photographed.

The next morning, my family woke up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for a tour to see the famous Murano glass being made. However, despite being armed with a map, a compass, and a GPS device*, we managed to get on a water taxi headed in the wrong direction. By the time we realized our error, we had missed the tour and were on the other side of Venice. Undaunted, we set forth on a self-guided walking tour of Venice.

*My father is an orienteer in the tradition of Columbus – very well equipped and often, but not always, able to determine correctly which continent he is on.

One of the first areas we stumbled upon was Venice’s historical Jewish ghetto, pictured above. According to a sign in a window, the ghetto is the oldest in Europe, founded in 1516. (Prior to 1516, Jews were not allowed to live anywhere in the city). It remained the only place Jews were allowed to reside legally until Napoleon conquered Venice in 1797. Unsurprisingly, the ghetto still has a very high concentration of synagogues and traditional Jewish shops, restaurants, and costume. I hadn’t been expecting to stumble upon such an oasis of Jewish culture in Venice, and it was interesting to see how those two cultures mixed.

On an interesting but unrelated architectural note, the black diagonal bolts you can see above some of the windows actually are attached to iron rods spanning the whole width of the building, bolting the walls parallel to each other. Buildings as old as these need a little bit of assistance in the battle against gravity.

After a lovely lunch at an Italian restaurant overlooking a canal and a bit more wandering, the Roes decided to go for a gondola ride, the local means of transport used by everyone except for locals. Here is a photo of Venice, as seen from a gondola:

I was so inspired by the gondola ride that I decided to write an entire musical devoted to gondoliers. It would be full of choral numbers, plot intrigue, and goofy puns, and would be creatively entitled “The Gondoliers”. Sadly, I discovered shortly thereafter that a couple of fellows by the name of Gilbert and Sullivan had already beaten me by a couple of centuries with that idea. Not to worry, though – I was inspired by my May trip to London to write a musical about a barber who kills his customers and makes them into pies. It’s a brilliant concept, and so sick that I’m quite certain no one could have scooped me on it.

Lovely as Venice was, we did eventually have to make our way to the ship, which was Huge. Seriously, I have never seen such a monstrosity. Nevertheless, it was a monstrosity I was prepared to love, because it had a tasty dinner and a cozy bed, as well as overnight transportation to Athens, Greece.

Back in Boston!

Hello!

I haven't had internet for the past three weeks, as I have been traveling around Europe. Anyway, the long and short of this post is that this blog is no longer accurately titled. Although I like to flatter myself by thinking that this blog is still a delight, it is no longer based in Stockholm.

Over the next few days, I will write a number of entries about my recent adventures. In the meantime, here's a spoiler! (Hint: It ends with my arriving safely in Boston).

June 30: End of work
July 3: Fly down to Venice, meet up with family
July 4: Cruise with family: Venice, Athens, Kusadasi (Turkey), Istanbul, Mykonos (Greece), Naples, Rome, Florence, Monaco, Barcelona
July 17: Fly back to Stockholm, final goodbyes and shindig
July 19: Boston!

I shake my fist at you, Germany!

You know what sucks worse than your country being robbed of a goal?

Your country being robbed of a goal, and then losing so badly that it doesn't matter anyway.

Yes, the ref decided that THAT was not a goal. Really now?

I'm so embarrassed, I won't be able to sing "Land of Hope and Glory" for at least another week or two.

The World Cup

High on the list of things I love about living in Sweden is how diverse my group of friends here is. If you look at the last blog post, you'll see that my friends represent a pretty wide range of nationalities. This is cool -- I've never had friends from so many different countries before. And, in Sweden, we all have something in common -- namely, an inability to understand the love affair between Swedes and pickled herring. Truly, it is inspirational. I hope one day to have such a relationship in my life.

One time that this diversity is not cool, however, is during the World Cup, when I just want a little bit of old fashioned patriotism of the flag-waving, gun-toting, evolution-banning variety*. What is NOT fun is having a Swede, a Malawian, a Dutchman, and a Ghanian over to your apartment to watch Ghana beat the US soundly in soccer. Yes, soccer. Rest of the world: bite me.

*OK, so maybe that much patriotism would be a bit of an overload... but I wouldn't say no to a Sam Adams, some apple pie, and overweight people with the American flag painted on their faces.

I am currently in mourning.

However, this story isn't over yet. Dual Citizen Katie's British citizenship has arrived to save the day! So as of now, I have renounced my American-ness (and with it, my ability to make up words...) and am officially a Brit. I'm spending the next 15 hours brushing up on my English accent, watching Harry Potter and Narnia, and finding my British passport so I can flash it like Bond. James Bond.

And tomorrow I will watch a football match over a pint between the UK and Germany with, among others, a couple of Germans. I will eat chocolate buttons and Roses. I will drink tea and eat curry. I will carry the Union Jack everywhere I go. I will walk with a cane and wear a ridiculous hat. I will wear sandals and socks. I will cause several accidents by driving on the wrong side of the road. Most importantly, however, I will lie through my teeth.

So Germany, good luck. You're going to need it.

Love,

English Katie

Wait, this is really late.

Congratulations, Class of 2010!

Annoyances

1. The fact that the sun never sets here. It rather messes with the old circadian rhythms when the sun "sets" at 130 am and rises at 2 am. The birds don't like it either, and  begin chirping round about midnight to protest this unnatural order of things.

2. The fact that in January, when I converted all my USD to SEK, the exchange rate was 1 USD:7 SEK and now it is about 1 USD: 8 SEK. And because this whole "Moving to Sweden" idea was obviously meant to be a financial investment (as opposed to a cultural, lingual, and living-on-my-ownal experience), this makes my gap year an obvious bum failure.*

*In case my internet-sarcasm didn't come through, I jest

3. How monolingual I am. Don't get me wrong, I've learned enough Swedish to follow a recipe or read a newspaper, but compared to the polygluttonous wunderkinder* around me, I am woefully... American in my linguistic capacity. Please allow me to list a brief lingual profile of the people I consider friends here, in no particular order:

*Does that count as German?

Swede #1: Swedish, English, Russian fluently, plus some German

German # 1: German and English fluently, plus a lot of Swedish

Dutchie # 1: Dutch and English fluently, plus some Swedish

Chinese # 1: Mandarin, Cantonese, English fluently, plus a lot of Swedish

Canadians # 1 & 2: English, German, Swedish fluently

Malawian # 1: English, Chichewa fluently

Swede # 2: Swedish, English fluently

American # 1: English fluently, little bit of Swedish.

American #2: English fluently, little bit of Swedish.

Katie Roe: English almost fluently, little bit of Swedish and French

Hmm, what do the three Americans on this list have in common...
4. The fact that I am leaving in 10 days and cannot bring everyone I love in Sweden home with me. (But I can try. I'll keep you posted on those efforts)

5. Kids who write entire blog entries about things that annoy them.
UmWhat?

Swedish The Fish

True story: Swedish fish don't exist in Sweden.

Swedish The Language

There's an interesting linguistic theory about the relationship between the language we speak and our thought processes. According to this theory, a native English speaker, for example, would think about certain concepts very differently than, say, a native Hopi speaker. You can read a brief but interesting account of this phenomenon in this article. For the linguistic buffs out there, here is a link that goes rather more in-depth.


So with that stellar introduction, it is now my turn to take you down the path of my own personal observations of Swedish. It's a tough job, but someone's got to do it. Imagine the world without my Completely Unqualified linguistic commentary. Scary, isn't it? You're welcome.

One of the most important things I've noticed about the Swedish language is how similar it is to the English language. I am far from a lingual expert, but I have studied French, German, and Swedish all to at least a passing degree of familiarity, and I can say that grammatically and vocabularily (is that a word?), Swedish is much closer to English than either French or German. In addition to the obvious vocabulary similarities (book is "livre", "Buch", and "bok" in French, German, and Swedish, respectively), the grammatical structure is very similar to English. Unlike German, Swedish nouns do not undergo any nasty declensions (eg. "The dog ran" and "I hugged the dog" would use the same word for "the dog"). Unlike French, the word order mostly makes sense (eg. "I love you", directly translated, is "I love you", instead of this "I you love" silliness).


There are a few minorish differences, though. One is the gender system. Swedish and the other Scandinavian languages are, as far as I can tell, unique in their gender system. Swedish has two genders, but unlike the classical "masculine" and "feminine" distinction, Swedish nouns are "common" and "neuter". There are rather more common nouns than neuter nouns, and the main distinction that I can find is that neuter nouns are less likely to be people or other living things. There are, however, exceptions to this – "barn" is Swedish for "child" or "baby", and is a neuter noun.



Swedish is also a fairly synthetic language. This makes it reasonably easy for a someone (read: me) who doesn't speak the language to understand a lot of vocabulary that I don't actually know. For example, dictionary is "ordbok" (Word+Book), future is "framtid" (Forward+Time), Toast is Rostbröd (Roasted+Bread), and so on and so forth.



Another interesting anachronism is "I'm sorry". First of all, Swedes are not big on apologies in the first place, so if a Swede apologizes to you, brace yourself for some seriously bad news. On the scale of "You didn't REALLY like your laptop, did you?" or "Whoops, I thought the safety was on that gun".
So how, exactly, do Swedes apologize? They say "Förlåt mig", which directly translates to "forgive me". This always throws me off a little… shouldn't I get to decide whether or not I forgive someone? It feels a bit strange to me that a Swedes way of apologizing is to demand forgiveness, but… Swedes can be a bit brusque that way.


Similarly, Swedes are not big on saying "How are you?" as a common greeting. There is an equivalent – "Hur mår du?" – but I get the feeling that it is used more when there is a genuine desire for an information transfer – eg. "You just returned to work from minor surgery. Hur mår du?" – rather than "Good morning, I haven't seen you since yesterday at five o'clock. Hur mår du?" Except they would actually never say that much, because they consider excess verbosity to be a sign of weakness*.


*Case in point: Many Swedes will take you by the shoulders and physically move you if you are in their way in a public place rather than say "excuse me"


The most informative glimpse into the Swedish lingual psyche, though? I would have to say it is the Swedish word "gift", which means both "married" and "poison".


So if a Swede proposes, before you make a rostbröd to your framtid, get out the ordbok and make sure you really know what they're talking about.


And if they follow their proposal with "förlåt mig", just start running.

Disappearing Act

So I haven't posted for awhile, largely because I've been rather busy. In the past month, I have visted Holland and the UK, and hosted my mum for a visit! (It was lovely, love you Mum). I am currently preparing for a visit next week from my lovely friend from the States. When combined with your typical Stockholm activities (fairs, concerts, and the like), I've been a pretty busy person.

I haven't had time to write a proper post detailing the events in my life, and I keep on putting it off. I decided, however, that a short post is better than nothing. So, hello. I'm still alive. I'm a bit better-travelled than I was a month ago.

All the Swedish gymnasiums (Translation: high schools) graduated this week, so there has been much partying throught Stockholm! Also, I went to see Mando Diao, a relatively well-known Swedish band, which was fun, except for the part where some creep in the audience stole my phone! For shame!

A better post later, I promise, but here is June's first post, and with it, the first post of my last month in Sweden!

So Apparently I look Dutch...

The other day, I met a Swedish friend of a friend. I introduced myself, and, about five or ten minutes later, the Swede asked me, “Are you Dutch?”.

I might have put this down to a minor anachronism, if this Swede hadn’t been the fourth person to think that I was Dutch. Here is a breakdown of nationalities people have guessed I am, as well as I can remember:

- Dutch (4)

- British (2)

- Canadian (2)

- American (1)

- French (1)

- “Rhodesian” (1, an elderly gentleman who later used the term “Red Indian”)

It makes sense to me that I’d get a rather inflated number of British guesses. Although I have an American accent, the vast majority of English-speaking expats in Stockholm, as far as I can tell, seem to be British. The Canadian guess makes sense because I think it is the default guess for speakers of North American English… because Americans seldom get miffed at being called Canadian, but sadly, I think the converse might not be true. The French guess came on the subway when I was carrying a French book, so that makes sense too. Rhodesian seems to be just a blip on the screen.

Dutch, however, I cannot explain. There does seem to be a fair amount of travel between the Netherlands and Sweden, both for business and for leisure, but that doesn’t seem to quite cover it.

So I thought that perhaps I remind people of some Dutch stereotypes. My stereotypes of Holland mostly have to do with windmills and clogs, neither of which figures significantly in my quotidian life. Fortunately, the magic of the internet was able to help. I was able to discover two main stereotypes (according to Wikipedia, anyway. I can’t say as I was familiar with either of them). Apparently, Dutchies (is that a word?) are seen as being both hardworking and rather thrifty. (Hence the expression, “going Dutch” on a date). True as those might or might not be about me, I don’t think that someone would be able to determine my industriousness or my thriftiness within five minutes of meeting me.

So with my most recent Swede, I decided to go ahead and ask why he thought I was Dutch. His answer?

“You obviously don’t speak Swedish, because you are talking to me in English. And your English is pretty good, but I don’t think it’s your native language. So I assumed you were Dutch.”

Ouch.

Maybe I’ll go back to Rhodesia.

At least Vesuvius didn't cancel any flights...

Dear Iceland,

I’m afraid that I must take this occasion to shake my fist at you and all your frozen brethren. You have now moved to the position of my third least favorite country after Azerbaijan (because I feel like a moron for being unable to spell it) and the UK (because I can’t vote there, despite being a citizen, and because their ridiculous spelling has led to the word “favorite” being underlined with an angry red squiggle).

Now we know that you’re a bit miffed at being relegated to the Arctic circle where month-long-nights and angry polar bears plague your existence, but a volcano was not the solution. Admittedly this is the most press your tiny nation has received since you went bankrupt last year (Oh yes, we still remember), but couldn’t you have put the collective effort of your twelve citizens toward something constructive? Like building a barn, perhaps, or removing all the unnecessary consonants from your language?


Which brings me to another point. Iceland, we know that you’re miffed at the EU for not bailing you out when you went bankrupt (perhaps because you refused to join the EU when you had the chance? Oh yes, we remember that too), but did you really have to take it out on the poor news anchors who were forced to pronounce the word “Eyjafjallajökull” on television every time they wanted to discuss the volcano? I mean, Japan’s volcano is named “Fuji”, for goodness’ sake!


But Iceland, the reason I am most miffed at you and your volcano-ey antics is because you cancelled my flight to Berlin. I had been looking forward to this trip to Berlin for weeks, months even! Now I will never have a chance to use my most excellent German, including such touristy gems as “Ich möchte bestalle ein Sacher Torte” (“I would like to order a Sacher Torte”) and “Ich spreche molto bene Deutsch” (“I speak very good German”, although not entirely in German) and “Ich bin schwanger!” (“I’m pregnant!” Very useful for cutting to the front of queues). I will never have a chance to gaze upon the remains of the Berlin Wall, eat wirklich sauerkraut with wirklich schnitzel or to see whether Real Germans look like this:

Anyway, when I arrive in Iceland (“Ïjsläyndjjjfzq” in Icelandic) next July on my transatlantic voyage home, I assure you, Icalanders, I will have some stern words for you. In fact, I would go so far as to add you to the list of countries America really ought to invade, after Iran, North Korea, and Wales. (I’ve overheard rumours* from the American embassy. Be prepared)

*I’m sorry, American spelling! I just couldn’t bear to look at the angry red squiggles any longer! My heart still belongs to you!

Sincerely,

Katie Roe

A Night at the Museum

A few days ago, by which I mean six weeks ago, I had the rather clever idea of going to the Royal Arms Museum. With this in mind, I gathered up the lovely Shawna, a fellow American, and headed off to Gamla Stan, Stockholm's old town.
On the way to the museum, we saw a remnant of an ancient war* -- a cannonball stuck in the side of the wall! How cool is that? Just to give you an idea of location… Gamla Stan is a small island surrounded by rivers and sea. It is frigid for much of the year, very slippery, and is a rather steep hill. So our enterprising invaders had to pack up their cannon, bring it on a boat, and push it up a largish hill before launching their attack on the castle. I forget exactly which invaders these were (Vikings perhaps?), but I give them marks for effort. Anyway, at some point during this attack a stray cannonball struck the corner of what is now a very nice and expensive looking apartment building and stuck there, where it can be seen and photographed to this day.

*On an unrelated note, Sweden's last war was with Norway in 1814. They lost. Shortly before this war was Sweden's war with Finland, which ended in 1809. Sweden lost this one as well, but in a rather unconvincing attempt to convince everyone that Finnish independence was really their plan all along, Sweden issued commemorative 1 kr coins in 2009 (the war's 200^th anniversary) with the quote "Den underbara sagan om ett land på andra sidan hafvet" (slightly archaic Swedish for "The wonderful story of a country on the other side of the sea"). I think the national PR department was working overtime on this one.
Undeterred by such grisly reminders of Sweden's bloody past (hey, we're Americans. We thrive on that stuff), Shawna and I forged on through the frigid evening to the museum.

Here we are at the Museum's entrance. The museum was once a castle, but now it's been retired as a tourist spot and the location for the odd official function. There are, however, still guards posted outside the castle 24/7. Although Nuclear Waste Cleanup Technician, Urologist, and The Guy Who Scrapes The Remains Off The Freeway After A Major Accident all offered some major competition, I'd still have to say that Castle Guard tops my list of Worst Jobs Ever. Standing still for long enough to take this picture was an exercise in self control. Standing outside for hours at a time, in the middle of the night, in the dead of the Swedish winter sounds like a patently Bad Idea to me.

Anyway, we finally entered the museum. Upon doing so, we were attacked by a rogue Swedish knight!

I jest, my dear reader. It was, in fact, a friendly knight, so you need not worry for the safety of Yours Truly.

Note: Swedish knights sadly are unable to devy gravity and stand on walls. I am just sick of this infernal software that makes it impossible for me to formal images easily.

Here is another friendly knight we encountered:





In conclusion, good fun was had by all, knights are not as scary as they look, and if anyone ever offers you a job guarding the royal castle, run the other way as quickly as you can. Also, never mess with Finns or Vikings.

Swedish Laws

One of the first things I do in a new country is look up the local laws, just to make sure I don't accidentally break any laws*. I have done a similar investigation in Sweden, and will now take the time to warn all you budding Swedish criminals about what is and isn't illegal in this Nordic nirvana.

 

*It's easier than you think. For example, weirdly enough, in Kentucky (which for all intents and purposes is a foreign country) it is illegal to bathe less than once per year. I got in some real trouble with that one.

 

LEGAL: Drinking hard liquor, for anyone above the age of 18.

ILLEGAL: Buying hard liquor*, for anyone below the age of 20.

*A rather confusing designation that includes wine as well as drinks that kill brain cells more efficiently, such as whiskey, rum, and Drano

LEGAL: Gay marriage.

LEGAL: Sex-selective abortions.

ILLEGAL: Painting your house without the government's permission.

LEGAL: Squatting. It is legal to spend up to 48 hours on someone else's land, with a tent if need be.

LEGAL: Foraging. If you get hungry during your 48 hour stay, you're perfectly within your rights to poke around your host's land, without permission, and take any berries or mushrooms you find.

ILLEGAL: Giving your kid a weird name. Names that have recently been turned down are Metallica, A, Q, Token, and Brfxxccxxmnpcccclllmmnprxvclmnckssqlbb11116 (pronounced "Albin"). Google was, however, approved.

LEGAL: Prostitution.

ILLEGAL: Hiring a prostitute.

 

Unfortunately, by the time I looked up all these laws, I had already broken most of them (all on that one night when I got wasted on wine and Drano and hired that prostitute, Metallica, to come over and paint my house). I've been left with no option but to go into hiding to avoid the notorious Swedish gulags. Consequently, I've spent the last two days at this really wealthy landowner's place. I've never met him, but if I do I plan to compliment him on his excellent mushrooms and berries.

The Official Tour

I have finally uploaded some pictures to my computer. If a picture is worth a thousand words, my future posts will be a lot longer.

I thought it was only fitting that, for my first entry in my new photoblog, I should give you a tour of my apartment. I took the following photos in early February. Although they bear little relation to my current living space, I don't remember photoshopping them, so I am forced to conclude that this is what my apartment looks like under the stacks of papers, books, and laundry.

So without further ado...

Since this photo was taken, my books seem to have spawned. I am unsure how this happened, but it promises to make my trip back to the States difficult.

Kitchen, where I make yummy food!

I'm sitting in that very chair RIGHT NOW. I just blew your mind, right?

I made that cheesecake! With that Swedish cookbook!

Alas, since that happy time the cheesecake has been consumed, the flowers have died, and the cookbook has remained Swedish.

Do you see the artsy vases?

Candles lit and freshly cut flowers for a romantic date with myself.

Far be it from me to break the first rule of Fight Club... but I think Tyler's been to Stockholm.