Swedish Life, In Six Parts

I missed a day of blogging because I was en route to Torekov to visit my friends Kai and Rhonda (more about that in the next post), and Thursday's account of my coffee disaster was a bit of a cop out, so I suppose I'm making up for lost time with this behemoth post. Hope you like to read! Just in case you don't, I've given each section a handy subtitle, for your skimming pleasure. That photo to the left is of Alexis and Jenny, an American friend and a new Swedish friend, with whom I spent Thursday evening.

Speaking Scandinavian: The languages of Sweden, Denmark and Norway all share the same linguistic root, which means people from these countries can fully communicate with each other if they just know how to fudge through a hundred or so instances where the vocabulary differs. Niklas calls this “speaking Scandinavian.” Sounds tricky, since some of the changes involve verb conjugations, but just as an exercise think of how many words differ from the U.K. to the U.S.: elevator/lift, sweater/jumper, cigarette/fag, cookie/biscuit, apartment/flat, etc. I bet I could come up with 100 if I really tried. Then again, my dog Liza knows about 100 words (I counted once), so I guess it’s not all that impressive.

Blonder than blond: When I was a little kid, my hair was towhead white, and I maintained a nice champagne hue until I was about a senior in high school. John’s hair is even lighter: in college photos, he’s sporting locks that look like mine in the ninth grade, and consequently, he appears to be about 14. (“Only a problem when I didn’t feel like cruising middle schools for chicks,” he quips.) But people in Sweden are crazy-blond well into their 30s. Like, albino blond. I know a lot of the girls dye their hair, but there are many, many who are naturally that fair. I’ve never seen grown humans who look like this—they’re like angels. I always thought long, platinum hair was an incredibly cheesy, Playboy bunny look. But Swedes really pull it off. I think the key to looking Swedish is to keep the makeup and products to a minimum, and wear either really chic or really bohemian clothes with your bottle-blond hair. Oh yeah, and keep track of those roots.

Swedish lunch: Every day, at the stroke of noon, everyone at Bonnier AB vanishes. There is literally a “lunch hour,” and it’s practically nationally mandated. Lots of restaurants have two meal prices: one for “lunch” and one for “efter lunch.” I generally have no problem with grabbing a sandwich as late as 2 pm and just bringing it back to my desk, but this is insane behavior by Swedish standards. First of all, you eat sandwiches for breakfast, not for lunch. Second of all, you don’t eat at your desk. Danes do that. (Whatever that means.) You must spend a full hour out of the office. This is important because for about half the year, midday is your only chance to see the sun, so don’t blow it. Oh yeah, and choose a nice restaurant and have a sit-down meal. Someplace with a white tablecloth would be good. You can have yogurt for dinner if it’s too expensive.

Naprapathy: Among the many benefits to working at Bonnier in Sweden (did I mention our company phones are iPhones?), our office has an in-house masseuse. Everyone is entitled to at least one free half-hour bodywork session per month—more if there are open slots. (!!!!!) Let’s pretend this is normal and discuss the bodywork method the guy uses: it’s something I’d never heard of, called naprapathy, but I think I might become a devotee. I had my session today, and as anyone who knows me is aware, I’ve got a bunch of back and neck problems, partly from stress, partly from a bicycle accident I had this past spring. This dude applied his magical naprapathic healing forces, which consist of something like a mixture of chiropractics, massage, cranio-sacral work and Feldenkrais, and within about 10 minutes, all the knots and pain in my neck, shoulder and upper back were gone. That is saying a LOT. He took my head in his hands and applied pressure to certain points in my neck while gently stretching and rocking my head back and forth in a way that supposedly gets the nerves twitchin' and sends signals to the brain saying that everything is moving properly and there’s therefore no reason to fire off pain signals. I’m very into this whole brain-pain connection thing. Thinking a few more sessions like this could really help me out.

Fresh and Sweaty: I joined a gym in Stockholm. It’s one of a large citywide chain, like New York Sports Club. Only, it’s called Friskis & Swetis—literally “Fresh and Sweaty.” This is right out there on the bad business-name spectrum with Hot and Crusty and Pocari Sweat. I’ve got to assume that something’s lost in translation. It’s just too awesome, in an R Kelly sort of way. In homage to Mr. Kelly, John and I have nicknamed my gym “Booty Sweat.”

Friends! My pal Alexis was in town last night on his way from Riga to ummm, some other European city (sorry, Alexis, too many cocktails) on tour with his band Girls Against Boys. They had a big hit song in the 90s, and have been kinda famous (especially in Eastern Europe, apparently) ever since. He introduced me to his friend Jenny, who lives in Stockholm and works for Chic magazine, a new women’s launch published by Bonnier’s biggest European competitor. I challenged her to a bout of arm wrestling, but she declined.