Förlåt!!!

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

tisdag 26 maj 2009

Hej hej!

Again, sorry, which is what the title for today means.

I might give you just a quick run down of what's been happening, but I'm sure it will evolve as I go along, we all know I can't be persuaded to use one sentence where I feel 16 will do...or the equivalent of 16 sentences all rolled into one, usually.

As I've been blah blahing about for like a week now, I wanted to go away somewhere, but it just didn't make sense. I'd rather save my money for later, or for trips I know I will take! And oh, right, that apartment in New York....

But I have this crazy sense of guilt about it, and also this funny "Well, it's ok, I live here now, do people who live in the Alps go hiking every day? Probably not.", which is totally not applicable. Or maybe I have this other funny feeling of, "Hey, I'll probably live in Europe again, so I'll try to see things and stuff but maybe I'll just appreciate Stockholm for now", which is far easier, closer, and cheaper than, say, Paris (Ok, cliché, but there are certain things I'd like to see). And speaking of Paris, I'm starting a campaign for un stage at the Musée de la Mode, oh, say, hypothetically, sometime in the next two years? Ok, great, meet you at les Tuilleries.

To assuage that guilt, I did the next best thing to travelling to France to see their costume collections and browse flea markets--went to Stockholm Stadsmission, which is like Goodwill, which is awesome. I believe it's run by the Red Cross here, and there are a few outposts throughout the city. I've been told over and over by a few people to go to Södermalm, and since it's a very hip part of the city, I assumed there would be good Stadsmissioner, but apparently I was wrong. But I'll get to that.

Let's back up to when I was thinking about where I was going, and what to wear. Obviously my overalls that have been so sadly unpacked these three weeks, rolled up at the bottom of my beautiful backpack, and a white oxford, my blue blazer (missing one button, rolled up to the elbows), and the new huge tannish handknit scarf I bought on Gamla Stan. It was quite a concession to buy a handknit scarf, kind of like buying a sheath dress (oh, you really did those four lines of stitching ON YOUR OWN MACHINE?? I'll take 6.) but I liked how simply she had finished the edges, plus it was just over 10 dollars, so come on. Plus it has a little tag that says her name and "Stockholm, Sweden", so that was the dealmaker.

So, thusly dressed, I made my way down Strandvägen for the 100 millionth time since I've been here, but took a right, up into part of Östermalm, instead of a left toward Gamla Stan and, ultimately, Söder (south), which is what they call Södermalm, which I wanted to liken to calling South Boston Southie, but I don't think it translates, as it were. A little too literal, on my part. Anyways, to the right! I wanted to buy some books, since I'm seriously BURNING through them. I went to what is purported to be a rather upscale bookstore, which I read almost seems "out of place", all those books in such a fancy place....which...I suppose is a Crazy Thought if you've only shopped at, say, Stockholm Stadsmission. I expected marble staircases and crystal chandeliers...and it was just a bookstore. A very nice one, well organized, well put together, with almost a bigger selection in English than in Swedish, but nothing so bizzare as...well would a bookstore with a marble staircase be that crazy? I digress.

I found the fiction section after pretending to be very interested in various Swedish-only sections to mask the fact that I was lost, and seriously, y'all, I wish all of our bookstores looked like this! Not that I buy new books, sorry, starving authors. But this looked like a list of the past 15 writers on the New Yorker Fiction Podcast, guests and authors. I bought books that I would save once I was finished, ones that I've been wanting to read: The Brief, Wonderful Life of Oscar Wao, by Junot Diaz; When You are Engulfed in Flames, by David Sedaris; and Sweet Land Stories by E.L. Doctorow. I considered Roddy Doyle and T.C. Boyle, but maybe they were too "expensive", I don't remember. I'm sure I can get them in, you know, America. Three books bought (and, let me tell you, two finished already, although WYAEIF took me only an hour or two, quick reading, and although not as consistently as I'd hoped, ROFL funny, if you're pickin' up the abbreves I'm puttin' down. See: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/LOL. So good, especially the analysis portion).

Next, to Söder! I walked through the profusion (and slight confusion) of lanes for walkers, bikers, and motorists of all kinds that is Slussen (which means "the lock", as in the waterway between the Baltic Sea and Lake Mälaren). There's a very tall contraption they call a funicular, but I call an elevator, and I was tempted, but didn't go. I guess it's a great view of the city, but I think I got a similar view from the vegetarian restaurant, plus there were food and friends.

Instead I went to the right and followed Hornsgatan, which is full of galleries. I wanted some kaffe pretty badly, and found a great place (obviously), which had kanelbulle as well. I sat outside, watched the hipsters pass, and started my Junot Diaz book--SO GOOD. It was...interesting to be reading a book about the Dominican Republic, so ripe with dominican spanish and slang, but to look up and see two tall, long-haired blondes with tiny jeans and pointy shoes, offputting to be trying to understand the Spanish when I've been trying so hard for the past month to eke words like the days of the week out of other people's conversations. But it was perfect.

Plus, about two doors down was what I intended to be a SEK Sinkhole...but turned out to be pretty...ok. I'm not sure what I was looking for, but I imagine this was like trying to go to a Salvy's in Brooklyn...highly picked over, only the less-ironic, less-neon 90's stuff left. And although I knew this would happen all along, I found myself in the book section to make myself feel better.

I bought:

--5 records of (potentially) various musical styles that I picked only for the Seventies Swedish covers

--Books 1, 3, and 4 of Barnens Lexicon, a sort of ABC book for young Swedish children, so maybe I could learn a thing or two for once. I won't know any animals, Peoples of the World, vegetables, colors, etc, that begin with the letters G-J, covered in Book 2, but I'll know all about the Basque culture and the name of each note of a Xylophone. Kind of like how I know many names of metals, woods, and some boat-y vocab, but not, "Please help me find the nearest Apoteket, I'm blinded by headache and need some aspirin" or "You're welcome". I just walk around saying, "Ursäkta", which means Excuse me. I have to make a case for the polite American.

--A Carl Larsson Puzzle, which probably doesn't have all of its pieces, because who gives away a perfectly good puzzle? Not me. But I can hope.

--A book to potentially be named later, a picture book.

--And other small items also to be named later, since they are not for me.

Success, but on a minor scale.

What I of course didn't take into account, even as I was struggling to hold all this WHILE IN THE STORE, was that I would be carrying this around with me for the rest of the day. I chose to view it as self-flaggelation in my worship of the word. OH, but I forgot to tell you that it took me like half an hour to get all those things together because this woman, I swear, was standing in the tiny English book section reading, say, the first chapter of each book. I really don't think I'm exaggerating. Again, I feigned interest in many Swedish titles like, "Horses Are Great!" and "Quick and Easy Vegetarian Cooking in the Microwave" so as not to breathe down her neck and look at the books, which is what would have been required in such a small area. Ooh, I was pissed. Then, right as I was going to get into line, she stepped in front of me. Then complimented my Carl Larson puzzle, although it turned out she had no idea what it was, since it came in a tube...maybe she just appreciates a good watercolor. But her compliment, and jealousy, since SHE didn't find such a marvelous cylinder, made up for the fact that once I finally got to the English section, she had decided to take something like the only 25 good English books. All that was left was Judith Krantz and, I kid you not, "How to Raise Fancy Rats".

Anyways, all outrage aside, I walked through the little park nearly adjacent, and went left to get to what I've heard of as the Main Road in Söder, Götgatan. Before I got there, a dirty window full of awesome, pristine vintage stuff caught my eye, and although I was too nervous to ask her to take anything out of the window (it turns out the rest of the store was back issues of magazines and tons and tons of comics), I know where it is now, and I might have to go back.

But Götgatan was...touristy, but not awful. But not what I expected, exactly. I found some stores that, as an American, I consider Affordable Swedish Design, and it was great to look through them, but I'm not so into it, and I'm actually not sure I know anyone who specifically is. But fun things to look at, and dream about the little house on the Archipelago I'd fill with them. Okay, we all know that I'd fill it with stuff from Stadsmission, but if I was a homestager in the Argipelago, let's say.

I found another thrift store, luck of luck, and this one was better but...eh...still nothing, really. In terms of Swedish Brands, it's not like any J. Lindeberg is going to pop up there out of nowhere, and even H & M from the 90s doesn't really count as vintage, and I believe never will.

I walked all the way down Götgatan, and planned on...I don't know, turning left once I got to the water, back along the shore to Slussen? Honey, this is no Djurgården. I have a pretty good sense of direction, so I knew I was going the right way, but unless I missed it, this is not a place that has lovely, winding, sandy walking paths along the edge. But I did get a peek at, I believe, where the Hammarby soccer team either plays or practices.

I walked and walked...and walked. I think I accidentally made it into SoFo, or South of Folkungatan (why does every city NEED one of these?), which was great to see, but I was just too tired, and too...intimidated? to sit by myself at a cafe, plus I already had to use the ladies' and I was not excited about bringing two huge bags in in with me, plus I was wearing a coat, and I HATE that.

But I did manage to buy some tofu and chocolate soymilk at a darling little health food store I happened upon. And right across the street was another Stadmission! But I resisted the urge, feeling the weight of the bag cutting my poor, delicate fingers to ribbons, and I had a long way to go. I figured I would take the ferry home at some point, but I didn't quite realize what that meant. I found water's edge worth walking along....but then instead of going up the hill, where I would have been in a sweet little community and would have passed that vegetarian restaurant, I walked straight on, which led me to the Street of Garbage and CruiseLiners, which was incredibly upsetting. Especially after walking for 15 minutes, looking up and seeing the windows of Herman's, and then looking to my right and seeing the disgusting cruise ships.

By then it was too late to change my mind, but I still had a long way to go! It probably wasn't THAT long, but that bag made time drip by like Molasses on a January Day, excuse my New Englandism (I considered that the phrase could be from the South, but January's not exactly cold down there, so I claim these words in the name of the North!).

I didn't realize that the nearest ferry was just past Slussen, on Gamla Stan, really. Which turned out ok. I would have walked the whole way back if I hadn't had that damn bag, but when I got to the ferry and put the bag down, I was glad for my choice. Plus, who doesn't want to experience being jammed into a small boat with 60 other tourist-types with a crazyperson for a captain, which I am judging based on the speed with which every boat goes careening across the harbor. I kind of hoped we'd accidentally run over a jetskier, I can't lie.

Back at home, I read Diaz and had a feast outside.

Sunday was a relatively slow day, waking up pretty late, again, which is glorious, and I didn't even feel wasteful of the day, time, etc. I knew I was going to take a boat ride, but I was a little unsure about how to go about it, and, honestly, I think I was apprehensive about doing such a touristy thing...but who cares, I'm not fooling anyone into thinking I'm Swedish. But I WORK HERE, man.

I found a suitable tour, an archipelago tour, that left from Kajplats 7. I was on Nybroplan, and it was thrilling to know just where I wanted to go to get kaffe for the hour's wait. I sat in the park and read Diaz, of course, and had my coffee. My tour started at 1330, and at 1300 or so I went to Pressbyrån, got some pistachios (why are there no pumpkin seeds with shells that exist in this country??), and headed for the kaj! I got in line, read some more Diaz, and continued to read while everyone boarded and chose seats. I decided to sit to port on the upper deck, following everyone else, I guess. I didn't end up sitting for most of the tour, however, since there were so many things pointed out to us on either side. I later realized I should have taken them up on the offer to sit in the bow on the main deck for the best view, but live and learn, and then pick up a folding chair and sit where you want.

No one else seemed to notice the ominous signs that not only was this a THREE HOUR TOUR, but it left from the kajplats where the Vasa was built!!! Although there's a good chance I was the only one on the boat who knew that. But it was a generally beautiful day, and I ended up taking all sorts of pictures of houses I'll own someday, but I'll remove the little aluminum boat and replace it with the wooden one that I will have made at the Boatbuilding School on Skeppsholmen. I can't wait.

Anyway, the tour was delightful but unremarkable, to be honest. Although I did have a REALLY hard time holding myself back from waving at every single person that passed on a boat, since That's What We Do in America. But this was not my boat, and no one seemed to be waving at me, so I held off.

Just as I got back to my beloved Sankt Erik, a new museifartyget (you can appear more adult when you realize the word is musei-far-tyget, but sometimes you have to giggle like it's 1997 (which would make me 12 (and potty humor amused me, unlike now, of course))). I believe that translates to Museum Vessel. Her name is Spica and although I'm sure she's fascinating to some people, military enthusiasts in particular, I kind of feel like she has a hull only a Mothership could love. But I love hearing her name said in Swedish, with that crazy last-syllable accent, speee-KAH!

I finished Oscar Wao.

Monday, back to work! I got many things done, although it seems a little useless to recount them here. I'm feeling very positive about it, and it seems like everyone else is too! Phew!

I put on my overalls, put together another table, and again found myself on Vega until wee hours, talking about Lord Knows What. I find myself, the great mimic, drawn to speaking English like they do, since most people I talk to here, whilst speaking very good English, have a little accent...how they pronounce j's and anything that starts with sh or sk, so good, so Swedish. Ship can sound like hrip, or shreep, but more aspirated...so good. I also have been occasionally thinking in roundabout ways, since that's how everyone expresses themselves in languages that are not their first; I do it in French. But now I also do it in English.

Them: "Hey, do you want some tea?"

Me, in my head, "I will be wanting some when I finish this book which I am reading". But thankfully, I'm a quick thinker, and I say, "yeah, tack."

Today has been the start of a task I find challenging...or maybe just a task that challenges my sense that everything should be perfectly documented from the start, which just rarely happens, especially when you have pressure from your backers to finish up and get the boat out of the water already, and you're writing on waterproof paper up to your neck in bottom-of-the-river sludge. Or maybe I'm oversimplifying.

Actually, that will come a little later, when I try to figure out what was in each barrel that also contained at least one button, or near enough to each skeleton for it to potentially belong to him or her. For now I'm just challenging my sense of efficiency by searching 50 findnumbers before and after each button listing. When I get to that barrel/skeleton bingo game, I'll wish that they had recorded in each barrel listing exactly what was in it, with the findnumber of each...but then what would I do with my time?

I'm excited to be on my way to becoming the world's Foremost Early 17th Century Swedish Button Scholar. Until s/he unmasks him/herself and gives me lots of useful information on button production in the 1620s, after which I will willingly hand back over the title, and content myself with Leading Vasa Artifact Expert: Button Unit.