Arrival in Stockholm
I got to Stockholm on Friday. The flight was uneventful except when it was delayed because of what appeared to be a drug bust.
But that's another story.
Since getting to Sweden, I've been volatile. One minute I'm extremely happy and excited and studying Swedish with manic energy, the next minute I'm in a panic. What I'm most worried about is finding an apartment. Right now, THS lives in a student apartment that is about the size of a fancy shoebox. Moving around gracefully as a couple would require us to be athletic midgets. I'm on the big/messy side, and THS is on the even bigger/also messy side, and we're actually doing pretty well with it under these circumstances, but still the plan is to move out to another place by the end of the month.
Stockholm has one of the tightest real estate markets in the world, thanks to a combination of arthritic rent control and incredibly high demand. We are following several sites that have listings, but every time we call about a new ad, the person tells us the place is already gone, specifically that within five minutes of placing the ad online, the phone began to ring off the hook. So it seems if you don't call within the hour you have no chance. This has also been confirmed by several Swedish friends of mine who had occasion to sublet their apartments in Stockholm.
If any of you bloggie readers out there (assuming readers of this blog exist...(?)) know of a computer program that will monitor when a site is updated and automatically send you a notification e-mail or better yet cause your computer to loudly ding, let me know, will you? I think that would be the ticket.
In happier news, THS and I had our first extended interaction in Swedish today. It was our trip to the grocery. We spoke entirely in Swedish the entire time. Luckily I'm pretty good at correctly guessing the meaning of things he says, even if I can't understand every word. Meanwhile, I can't produce complete sentences to save my life.
So a typical interaction, translated, was like this.
ME: That! I want! (Pointing with an articulate finger)
THS: What, beets?
ME: No! No!
THS: Oh, you want pickles?
ME: Yes.
THS: Okay, let's get pickles, these ones over here are good, they're the least expensive brand and I think they're also pretty tasty.
ME: No! I want...they sour...
THS: You want sour pickles? Honestly, Ida, I think all pickles are sour and there's only one kind here, anyway.
ME: I want sour dill kind...
THS: There's only one kind, and none say dill on the label.
ME: No! There are two type pickle...sour with dill...and...and...and...and...and..and ...you know...and...(low moan of frustration)
THS: And what?
ME: Forget, forget. No pickle for me.
THS: What other kind? Say it in English.
ME: NO. NO PICKLE FOR ME.
As you can observe, I was very purist about only speaking Swedish today. I paid for it in many ways, not the least of which was picklelessness. The thing is, I don't like bread and butter pickles. Not at all. The risk was simply too great that I would end up with that egregrious pickle type.
Ah, the sacrifices one makes for language and taste.
I bet you're wondering whether I, a 27-year-old woman, mind having the communication skills of your average 1-year-old infant.
To that I would say: My friend, better not to think about it.
But that's another story.
Since getting to Sweden, I've been volatile. One minute I'm extremely happy and excited and studying Swedish with manic energy, the next minute I'm in a panic. What I'm most worried about is finding an apartment. Right now, THS lives in a student apartment that is about the size of a fancy shoebox. Moving around gracefully as a couple would require us to be athletic midgets. I'm on the big/messy side, and THS is on the even bigger/also messy side, and we're actually doing pretty well with it under these circumstances, but still the plan is to move out to another place by the end of the month.
Stockholm has one of the tightest real estate markets in the world, thanks to a combination of arthritic rent control and incredibly high demand. We are following several sites that have listings, but every time we call about a new ad, the person tells us the place is already gone, specifically that within five minutes of placing the ad online, the phone began to ring off the hook. So it seems if you don't call within the hour you have no chance. This has also been confirmed by several Swedish friends of mine who had occasion to sublet their apartments in Stockholm.
If any of you bloggie readers out there (assuming readers of this blog exist...(?)) know of a computer program that will monitor when a site is updated and automatically send you a notification e-mail or better yet cause your computer to loudly ding, let me know, will you? I think that would be the ticket.
In happier news, THS and I had our first extended interaction in Swedish today. It was our trip to the grocery. We spoke entirely in Swedish the entire time. Luckily I'm pretty good at correctly guessing the meaning of things he says, even if I can't understand every word. Meanwhile, I can't produce complete sentences to save my life.
So a typical interaction, translated, was like this.
ME: That! I want! (Pointing with an articulate finger)
THS: What, beets?
ME: No! No!
THS: Oh, you want pickles?
ME: Yes.
THS: Okay, let's get pickles, these ones over here are good, they're the least expensive brand and I think they're also pretty tasty.
ME: No! I want...they sour...
THS: You want sour pickles? Honestly, Ida, I think all pickles are sour and there's only one kind here, anyway.
ME: I want sour dill kind...
THS: There's only one kind, and none say dill on the label.
ME: No! There are two type pickle...sour with dill...and...and...and...and...and..and ...you know...and...(low moan of frustration)
THS: And what?
ME: Forget, forget. No pickle for me.
THS: What other kind? Say it in English.
ME: NO. NO PICKLE FOR ME.
As you can observe, I was very purist about only speaking Swedish today. I paid for it in many ways, not the least of which was picklelessness. The thing is, I don't like bread and butter pickles. Not at all. The risk was simply too great that I would end up with that egregrious pickle type.
Ah, the sacrifices one makes for language and taste.
I bet you're wondering whether I, a 27-year-old woman, mind having the communication skills of your average 1-year-old infant.
To that I would say: My friend, better not to think about it.
posted by Ida at 1:30 PM
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