Sverige

I promise to make an entry about Paris later :-)


With my flight to Gothenburg leaving at 1:40 PM, my bus to the airport was scheduled to leave at 10:40 AM. The bus ride from Paris to the Beavauis airport takes about an hour but it only costs about 15€. Sorry RyanAir, but that airport is not really in Paris. Although I don’t think I will ever hate on RyanAir. Because although I did try to wake up early, I failed to wake up early enough to print out my boarding pass (I needed to go to Aaron’s university to use their printing). I also failed to purchase my bags online and in advance. Normally, it costs an extra 40€ if you don’t print your boarding pass. You also have to pay even more for your bags if you buy them at the gate. On top of that, your bags cannot weigh more than 20 kilos a piece, which is about 40 pounds I guess.

When I finally got to the terminal, I did not have my boarding pass, I had not paid for my bags and on top of that, both my bags were overweight by at least a few kilos a piece. Technically, I would have to owe, I would guess, maybe something around 100€ or $130. But a RyanAir miracle happened. I got to the terminal and I got one of those you-have-to-be-kidding-me kind of looks from the French woman. She asked me what I was doing in Sweden. I told her that I was visiting family and that I was going to be a student in Sweden (I even pointed out my Swedish visa in my passport). She walked away and said something in French to another airport man and handed me back my passport. She said in her broken English something like, “I don’t know how to explain this you other than the fact that I can explain that you are very lucky.”
I even tried to hand her my credit card because I didn’t understand. I... don’t...owe...you any money? Really? Are you sure? But no. Miracle.

Although my day wasn’t completely lucky. I left my huge, puffy, Swedish-weather-proof jacket in Paris. I guess I’ll have to go back fairly soon or Aaron will have to brave the darkness and cold weather to visit me. Given RyanAir fares, I would almost assume that it is just an expensive to ship something big like my jacket as it would be just to fly there.
The flight was fine. It wasn’t until the plane was starting it’s descent that I realized that I was finally going to Sweden. It seemed like the day was never going to come! Then, the nervousness set in. I was going to Sweden. By myself. To live with people I have never met. I have been in email contact with my Swedish family since maybe 2007 or 2008. But I’ve never met them in person. The last time a relative from the United States had visited them, it was my great-uncle Stuart and his wife Leota and they came in October 2001. Apparently, my great-uncle Stuart was 88 years old at the time but the Swedes claim he never once seemed that old and that he was extremely happy to visit. They also remember when my great-grandfather Charles visited in the 1960s. It is maybe because of this visit, that I am able to visit with such ease. Charles is the connection that I have with this family... but I’ll save the family tree entry for another day.

When I arrive at the airport, I don’t even want to call it an airport. It’s an airport just as DuPage County airport is an airport/parking lot. I walk down the stairs of the plane, through a plane graveyard, and have to walk maybe 5 minutes to reach the actual airport building. Needless to say, it was very easy to find Thorlief (my cousin who was picking me up). Thorlief has a “strong Nordic name” as he says and is very hard to miss as he is very tall.
Gothenburg city airport is, again, not actually what I or what anyone would call in the city of Gothenburg. After a scenic drive, I finally arrive where I will be staying. Thorlief and his wife, Ewa don’t have a spare bedroom. However, our other cousin does. So I am staying with Gunilla and her husband Arne. Both who can speak English, but Gunilla speaks it a bit more. When I get there, I am treated to what Gunilla promises is a typical Swedish meal. After having a typical Parisian meal of a chocolate crouissant and a bottle of Coke from the metro earlier in the day, I feel as if I have never had a better meal. It was beef with vegetables in the meat, potatoes and some sort of mushroom sauce that was amazing. We even had dessert: chocolate cake with walnuts in some milk and cream. Amazing.

It’s funny because when I tell people I am studying in Sweden, a common question is, “what do they eat in Sweden?” My response was always coffee, bread that goes with coffee, and fish. Sometimes I would mention the ginger cookies or lingonberries or something too. The truth is, as far as I can tell, Swedes drink a lot of coffee and eat really good food. Mostly because maybe they make their food (as opposed to my typical American meal of DP Dough in Champaign or Portillo’s in Chicagoland). I have also discovered that I am in love. I am completely head over heels for Swedish cheese. Yes, I realize that I just spent quite a few days in the land of wine of cheese... but I don’t think it’s quite the same as Swedish cheese. For one, France has more choices of cheese than I care to learn (or care to ask for the translation for). There are too many choices! Half of them look like the cheese that my roommates and I sometimes accidentally grow in our refrigerator in Champaign. Swedish cheese is just amazing. I tried to ask for the name of it and Gunilla happened to have a book on Swedish cheese. It contains mostly big compound words that I only understand parts of but I think its safe to say that all of it looks fresh and delicious. There is also no need to distinguish between “natural” and “cheese product” as Kraft likes to do in the United States. Love.

After dinner, Gunilla started to pull out all the old pictures. Every family has that person that seems to collect the family’s old photos and apparently Gunilla is that person. I actually almost start crying; Gunilla and Arne keep a picture of their American cousins on their wall and it was a picture of my grandmother, Greta and two of her brothers, Stuart and Bill (all of whom I have met and all of whom are now deceased). We looked over pictures for maybe an hour or two. I took a bunch of pictures of the pictures to pass on to my family. Gunilla gave me two of the pictures. One is a picture of Charles when he first arrived in Chicago that was taken at some company on Clark Street. The other is a picture of Greta, “Billy”, Ethel and Stuart (all siblings) sitting on a porch as young children. Two things I will be eternally grateful for.
Even after drawing all these connections to family, I still feel like an outsider at this point (obviously). We were sitting on the couch and just talking about life I guess when I asked who played the beautiful piano they had. Gunilla plays the piano (and very well, I might add). Gunilla and Arne also used to sing in a church choir in the town they lived in before Gothenburg. I think Arne used to play the guitar, too. Gunilla then asked if I had learned an instrument. I of course responded in English, “cello.” I have looked up the Swedish word for cello before and I think it is the same word. So of course, she didn’t understand me because I can’t say the word “cello” with a good enough Swedish accent.

Gunilla, Arne and I have quite a few moments when I don’t understand what they saying in English or Swedish and they don’t understand what I am saying in either language either. So I think both sides have that mutual understanding of “I am just going to smile and nod even though I don’t really know what you’re saying.” So that was the end of that conversation. However, it’s important to note. Later that night, I finally noticed that in the corner, halfway hidden, they had, lo! and behold!, a cello! Why do they have a cello? I pointed it out to them and we finally had that “Aha! I know what you’re saying!” moment. Apparently, Arne had once tried his hand at the cello many, many years ago. He had not even tried to play in many, many years they said. But they took it out, and Arne helped me tune it. Tuning a wood instrument that hasn’t been in tune in years is very hard to do. However, Arne and I finally got it tuned well enough. So I played the cello for them. Lucky for me, I happened to play a bit before I left the United States, so I had a few songs from memory at least.

Then, the best part of the night happened.

I should say first that Arne speaks English but he prefers to speak through Gunilla or speaks to me in Swedish-English mix (Swedglish or Svenskgelska maybe?). But after I was done playing, Arne said something I hope I never forget. He came up after a few minutes and in perfect English said, “Listening to you play an instrument that I hold so dear to my heart was very inspiring. I am so glad to have met you. I am very happy to hear the real sound of a cello in my house. Thank you very much.” Music speaks many languages and I was glad to make that connection with Arne.
After all of this, we watched some TV. However, the Swedish on TV is spoken very fast and I soon realize I can only understand the first and last words of each sentence. I finally give up. I thanked Gunilla and Arne again letting me stay with them and for the amazing dinner. I was so tired that I went to bed at 9:30 PM and actually fell asleep with my normal clothes on. I call success.
My first day in Sweden :-)