A year in the life

I don't usually post about work, but just when I was feeling utterly exhausted with the whole thing, the video crew came out with this clip which practically sums up the last year of my life. Check it out, and I beg you, if you have not done so already, sign up as an Ocean Defender (it's free, for all of you on a Christmas budget as tight as mine).

The mysterious Mr Sven

I'm not sure this tale will stand up to retelling, but bear with me - because a sequel is in the making. A long time ago, in a canal system far far away, Birdy and I went out among the bars of Amsterdam. I can't remember why (and knowing us it's entirely possible there was no good reason) but we really did do quite the grand tour. Actually, "grand" is the wrong word.

We went to the tackiest of the tacky (pretty much any bar around Leidseplein, that is). Birdy had just sharply told the leader of a bunch of out-of-towners that the reason we were the most interesting people in the bar (his words, not ours) was because "this wasn't our annual trip to the big city to get drunk" (miaow!), and we were contemplating the fact that this may be the end of the road for our girls' night out, when we met two Swedish guys, Sven and Dan.

The word Sven would induce a fit of giggles every time we said his name... there used to be an ad in Australia for massage sandals. The ad featured a miniature ultra-blonde muscle-bound masseur named, of course, Sven, strapped to the feet of some anonymous legs. "Hel-lo!" Sven would wave, with his dazzling white smile and glowing with Scandinavian health, in the worst possible approximation of a Swedish accent. Sven would then be superceded by a pair of terribly German-looking sandals. (Physical Challenge: I have scoured Google and can't find his photo - special mention to anyone who manages it. UPDATE: Someone anonymous has found him!! Although the ad has been updated, and Sven has an even worse haircut, at least he still says Hel-lo! Check it out. And anonymous, reveal your identity to receive the appropriate attention and glory.)

Anyway, Mr ("So, how about a massage?") Sven and Dan seemed by far the most interesting people at the bar, so we lent them one of our bikes to double on and headed off to another of Amsterdam's entertainment gems. Sven rode my bike, changing it forever ... in a bent-metal kind of way. At one point, in his smart grey suit with his knees around his ears, he asked in his Arnold-Swchawzenegger, strangely mezmerising robotic voice, "How am I doing?" Unfortunately we had to inform him that he had lost his friend Dan about 3 blocks back (before enquiring about the status of our massage.)

After this night, Sven became a strange recurring force in our lives. One day I was recounting this very story to a friend in a Thai restaurant, when the man himself glided Terminator-like past the window (luckily I was with Australians who were all keen to hear whether or not he had worked his magic on my shoulders). Then a few months later, Birdy and I were reading magazines in the huge expanse of Vondelpark, when Birdy instructed me suddenly to put my magazine over my face. "Now, " she said. "Look over your magazine to that next blanket. Is that ..." We were reduced to tears as Sven, seemingly still wearing the smart grey suit (on a Sunday?) with the legs rolled up, came over and offered us a punnet of strawberries. (It reminded me of that android secret agent in Get Smart.. a little too perfect.)

Fast forward a year and a half. Last night I. and I were bored, and trying to think of relatively inexpensive activities for Birdy when she comes to Stockholm. Suddenly, I knew. Luckily, I. has a hidden talent - she's quite the internet stalker (just an hour ago when I was pondering who I had missed a call from on my phone, she asked "Is it a mobile or land line?" Landline. "Fine, we can use reverse look-up on the internet," she said, before looking guilty at revealing yet more of her own secret agent history, and heading for the bathroom). Under her expert guidance, I. and I managed to track down the results of the London marathon, leading to a finance web-page, leading to her secret method of approximating company email addresses until finally this morning I arrived at work to find an email from ... Sven himself. He replied without blinking an eyelid (or so I imagine), and even recalled our previous coneversation from his memory banks.

So...Birdy and I are excitedly now scheduled for a date with destiny - and Dan - next Thursday. I have (cheerily) suggested strawberry cocktails. Birdy (affectionately) suggests we wear grey. Both of us refrained from mentioning massages. We are not sure if he gets it. Yet.

Finally snow...

And the Christmas spirit bestows warmth upon humble Drakenbergsgatan...

Taking the silent out of Silent Night

Facing a lonely weekend with I. away, our new temporary roomie Stina away, and the failure of my ex-boyfriend to show up from Oslo despite having booked and paid for tickets, I was rescued by my friend Karin introducing me to yet another delightful Swedish Christmas tradition. (Disturbingly, most of the traditions so far seem to involve marriage. Have I been cursed because of my failure to put flowers under my pillow and almonds in my pudding? The other morning, I. made me Risgrynsgröt, a Christmas rice porridge - she made it several weeks early though in a valiant attempt to get me out of bed before 7.30am. Traditionally, you hide an almond in the porridge and whoever eats it will be married within a year. Perhaps I should thank her for not hiding an almond in there... unless she did, and ate it. Hmm.)

Anyway, this particular tradition did not involve marriage, but happily did involve glögg. Karin, myself, and three others gathered on the steps of St Johannes Kyrka (St Joseph's Church) to see a beautiful Christmas concert, sung by an all-male choir with a female soprano. I did find it rather strange that there were flags in the church (see the photo taken surreptitiously from behind Karin's head on my mobile) and the choir did look rather military in appearance, but in a benevolent way, like the Salvation Army perhaps.

To fight the cold, Karin had thought ahead, and brought a thermos full of glögg complete with a set of little glasses. "But it's too early for glögg!" exclaimed our Greek friend, Sofia. The Swedes and the Australian (me) looked at her in mock horror. Sofia obediently made up for such a rash comment by drinking two extra glasses, trying hard not to giggle in church as the clink threatened to give us away.

Meanwhile, the temperature has dropped to 0 and we're still "holding our thumbs" for a White Christmas, although the local weatherman has literally said he wouldn't bet any money on it.

It's a little strange not having a significant other at Christmas (not that I shouldn't be used to that). I might go and count the almonds...there's still time for risgrynsgröt after all.

The Secret History

Home alone, tired of the complete absence of sunlight. So I decided to write about a little website that's been a beacon in the dark for me for several years now, and obviously for a few other people as well. No, I'm not referring to my beloved Homestar (but if you want some tips on what NOT to get for Decemberween, you could do worse than StrongBad's home shopping channel. Remember: nothing says "I have no idea what your interests are" than to give a present that ceases to be useful the moment it's opened).

Anyway, there's a little blog a few doors down from this one called PostSecret.com, updated every Sunday. People send in home-made postcards like the one above and share their deepest, darkest secrets - ranging from child abuse to how many staplers they've pinched from the office supply cabinet. In total, the postcards form a pretty fascinating - not to mention addictive - glimpse into the rest of humanity. Have a look. You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll look very suspiciously at the person sitting next to you on the bus tomorrow.

Some of the postcards have brought me to tears. And yes, I did send in one myself, although it never got published. ...In fact, I'm hoping I actually sent it and didn't leave it in all its incriminating glory in the stationery cupboard. (Not that I was stealing anything). But it's lost forever now, much like the subject of the secret it contained.

So...happy birthday. Wherever you are.

Might as well face it, you're addicted to glögg

There are few things I love as much about Sweden as the strong sense of tradition. Even if people rather half-heartedly embrace the meaning behind them, they are at least very aware of the appropriate form of alcohol to consume.

At Christmas time, that form of alcohol is definitely glögg. And I have to admit, I'm completely addicted to it. It now replaces tea as my Sunday afternoon defrost beverage, and with almonds and raisins makes a good replacement for Ben & Jerry's New York Super Fudge Chunk ice-cream (and coming from me, that's saying a lot). I suspect that glögg has health properties we have never dreamt of, including mending broken hearts (fingers crossed on that one... or thumbs held, as they say here) and taking the edge off Christmas shopping.

Of course, there are many other beautiful things that I feel I've always missed - putting seven different flowers under your pillow at Midsomers to dream about your future husband (obviously they didn't take into account the amount of snaps you will no doubt have consumed by then, making sleep more like a coma than a dream-filled vision of a rosy future); putting seven candles in your window to celebrate Christmas (currently accelerating climate change as no-one can be bothered with real candles any more and an electric version can be purchased for 5 bucks at the department store) and surströmming (I thought the Dutch had the jump on horrible ways to eat herring, but I think the Swedes take the cake. Recipe: Step 1. put it whole into a barrel for a year. Step 2. Eat. For more on this horrendous food and handy tips on how to apply surströmming in a highschool prank, check out EscapeArtist.com.)

No seriously, there really are some fascinating things including the use of birch branches in saunas, but that's a whole different story. And at least Santa is nice here, and doesn't have an evil racially-stereotyped sidekick who will take you to Spain in a sack if you're bad, like in Holland (I never really understood that, I can't say I'd have minded packing up my bikinis and leaving the grey skies of Amsterdam and heading for Barcelona).

Anyway, back to the glögg. For my Aussie friends, you might either need to wait until July to really enjoy this - or go to the nearest movie cinema as my sister and I used to do whenever it was too hot. (They sure crank up the aircon at Birch Carroll & Coyle.)

Here's what you'll need. You can get a great recipe here, and an even more delicious one for glögg with vanilla ice cream and caramelised almonds here (in Swedish).

1 cup rum,or vodka or 50/50
1 bottle of a full bodied red wine (ex. Merlot, Cabernet Sauvignon)
dried figs
75 ml (0.3 cups) sucanat (or sugar cubes)
blanched almonds
raisins

spices
3 cinnamon sticks
1 teaspoon whole cloves
1 teaspoon ground nutmeg
2 orange peels
5 whole cardamoms
1 small piece of ginger, chopped
20 raisins

p.s. What's the photo? I hear you ask. While trying to get to grips with my camera, I tried to take a photo to illustrate all those candles in the windows of my neighbours. Unfortunately I over-exposed it, but I still like it. And no, I wasn't trying to portray the view with glögg goggles on (or should that be glöggles??)

A year away from Tokyo

Sorry I've been slack in writing, but it's been a tough couple of weeks. I toyed with calling this post "Nightmare before Christmas" because it really has been. Excuse my lack of writing skills, I am tired after drinking with I. until God knows when last night in a futile attempt to analyse life, the universe and everything.

Good news is, the employment situation is sorted out, and I have the chance to stay in Sweden for another year. So that's one weight off my shoulders. The problem is a new one was added to my heart. Ok well not exactly new...shall we say "refreshed with vigour"... it's hard to believe that a year ago I was in Tokyo with my head in the clouds, slaving over a luke-warm camping stove and unintelligible microwave in an attempt to cook Mr Unrequited a birthday dinner from his home country -- and no doubt failing miserably -- unwittingly about to get my heart absolutely broken.

Unfortunately Mr U and I have failed to build any kind of friendship since, and now it's got to the point where he has decided that we must go our separate ways (as in not even speak) and that he will never change his mind. I wake up every day hoping it was all just a terrible dream (and considering that my dreams lately have featured a childhood friend with double sets of teeth like a shark's, a Christmas tree with not one single present from me underneath it inducing a terrible sense of guilt, and a brown rat chewing on my little toe, it's not entirely an unlikely plotline). Someone once said "Everything changes but nothing is ever truly lost." Frankly, that's a load of crap. Chris Martin said, or rather whined, "When you lose something that you can't replace, I-I-I-I will fix you." Well come on down, Chris!

On a more cheerful note I recently had a visit from my longtime friend JonJon and his lovely girlfriend Joanna (who has since kept me well stocked with care parcels of Vegemite, some "diva red" lipstick - with instructions to 'do as it says on the tin' and a copy of "He's Just Not That Into You," which unfortunately I was all too aware of when the book arrived.) Jonathan, Joanna and I went with I. to a party hosted by Sailor Kalle. The party required men to go as sailors (original isn't he?) and girls to go as Heidi. Unable to face a barmaid-style outfit, I decided to go as Heidi the Sailor (resulting in me getting a tattoo in permanent marker on my back saying HMAS HEIDI, which I had a hard time explaining to my hairdresser several days later). We found Jonathan a hilarious pair of "Fat Controller" pants, and I. fetchingly went as "the girl in every port". Joanna became unofficial photographer for the evening and tried to get a shot of every guest winking at the camera, politely asking "Blinka tack!" in Swedish to each. Despite the fact that after a few cocktails her request came out more like "BLINK ATTACK!", she managed to get an impressive collection.