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.