Monday, October 04, 2010

8:50 PM

Östersund, Sweden

In the train, at the train station

I need to write this while listening to music in headphones since, for the second night in a row, people seem to have decided that the night train is the best place to have loud discussions. L’sigh…

I really want to jump right into today’s event’s, but, I suppose, in the interests of not confusing myself and the reader, I will start back in Stockholm, yesterday.

It’s strange—even from the train entering Stockholm I could already feel something very familiar, an American-ness in its aesthetics. The suburbs were laid out in strikingly similar fashions (from what I could see from the train) and the homes themselves seemed to be identical to the ones I’ve known all my life. This sense of parallel societies did not pass—throughout Stockholm, and even (perhaps, especially) up here in Östersund, I found myself experiencing a world that was—in its apartment buildings, its highways, its wharfs, its shopping centers—incredibly American.

Well, to be absolutely truthful, I hesitate to say that Sweden seems American. Perhaps it is the other way around. Sweden has a very strong Ikea-pride. It loves it’s national home furnishings mega-center. During the day I attended to a museum that covers the history of Swedish society from around the 1600’s. The first and last parts, covering nearly (I’d estimate) a fifth of the whole exhibition, was on Swedish home furnishings. Everything from chairs to tables, cabinets and shelves. The development of the modern apartment was shown in its evolution over the last two centuries. An entire exhibition was devoted to household plastic goods, with a focus on the 70’s.

Even now, as the train passes through suburban/rural mid-Sweden I am both comforted and unsettled by how easily this could be a ride on the Hudson River Line of Metro-North, or perhaps a drive through Binghamton.

But, when you consider the significant emigration of Swedes to the US and the US’s importation of Swedish goods, perhaps the similarities are not quite so unlikely as they at first seem.

Moving along: I love how the normal greeting here is, “Hei-hei!” Seriously! It’s like being greeted by happy-go-lucky kids or something every time you walk into a store. Honestly, if in America everyone at the store was forced to say, “Hi-hi!” they’d be (or at least seem) less unhappy. C’mon, how miserable can you possibly be saying something like that?

Okay, Swedish food. Um, fish. So I’ve had a salmon quiche and a sandwich with some sort of salmon spread. Oh, and they like cucumbers with their fish it seems. And let’s not forget about the hot dogs! Again I must make the comparison to America, except that in this case something I would consider truly American does not exist in the States, but is right at home here in Sweden. You take a grilled tortilla, throw down two scoops of mashed potatoes, a hot dog or two, some ketchup, mustard, and anything else you like—and then you eat it. Seriously, how did we miss that? It’s like KFC’s Famous Bowls thing, but in a tortilla…with meat! Heavenly, seriously.

The city of Stockholm itself is very nice. Clean, friendly, well laid out. But, once again, uninspiring. I don’t find myself with that oh-so-necessary internal conflict of, “Should I go here? No there! What about that place? Oo, this alley looks cool,” that goes along with an incredible city like Paris, and in many places London. Stockholm is a very orderly city, and I suppose that’s okay. I’m going back for a second day, now aren’t I?

I went to the Nordiska Museum—the one I discussed about society’s history—and the Historiska Museum, which was excellent. I went late and didn’t really have enough time there. I learned all about Swedish pre-history, and much about their Viking period, and a bit of what followed. Unfortunately, I didn’t have enough time to explore more in depth.

I wandered around a bit after that and then headed back to the hostel (ON A BOAT!) to gather my things and do a quick bit of internet work. Then I was off to the train for some much needed rest (amidst the chattering of inconsiderate persons).

I arrived in Östersund at about 6:30 AM and hoped off the train into the early morning cold. I whipped out the scarf and hat and set off, map newly acquired, in search of adventure.

I had circled a few sights I wished to see and so crossed a foot bridge to a town across the water where it was said that there was a rune stone, the northernmost one in all Sweden. I wandered around for a bit, searching, until I finally asked at a supermarket. The kind cashier pointed across the street to a complex of buildings. Skeptically I went in that direction. In the middle of a series of short, white buildings I spied a large stone standing straight up in the grass. I couldn’t believe, it, and didn’t until I finally got in front of it and saw the strange Nordic writings. A tiny, ancient ruin, left untouched as it was surrounded on all sides by modernity!

I decided then to explore this area a bit more, and after winding my way through some suburban streets I saw what looked like a path leading up a mountain—so I took it. I ended up on a hike to the top of the mountain with splendid views of surrounding Sweden. But, again, I was shocked at how familiar even the nature seemed. I felt that had someone put a picture of Binghamton, or the Hudson Valley in front of me, and a picture of the part of Sweden I was looking at right then, I would not have been able to tell the difference. Very strange.

On the way down I found an abandoned cabin, and an odd little, out-of –the-way café. Finally back on the road, I witnessed the Swedish national cross-country skiing team already in practice for the winter, using skis with rollers on them!

As I made my way back to Östersund I walked along the black sea water, as close as I could, the spray from the lapping waves hitting my face. It’s inexplicable—out here, in this Scandinavian place I feel more comfortable with the cold, and with water even. I feel very comfortable even. There’s something about Viking artifacts, Viking literature, and the Viking environment that absolutely compels me, draws me in. Is there some sort of genetic bonding here? Check the records!

Next, I took a walk down main street, and over to the Sami cultural center. I wanted to learn more. During the time I spent at that societal history museum in Stockholm I learned much about the indigenous people of Sweden (and Norway, Finland, and Russia), who are called Sami (formerly, Laps). These indigenous peoples, like the Native Americans and the Aborigenes, have been heavily discriminated against. While they have not, apparently, been the victims of genocide or anything quite so vicious as the fates of the indigenous of Australia or the Americas, they have suffered their fair share of hardship, owing to unfortunate prejudice. Why does this always seem to happen? Why does the native population of a land incite such negative feelings in the invaders?

Anyway, after that I made my way up to the university grounds where I wandered around for a bit, feeling very drawn in by the inherently academic nature of everything. I forced myself away and visited the town library which was absolutely stunning—lots of open space, green plants decorating the open areas in a really spectacular way. I checked my e-mail and moved on.

Next stop was the local art gallery. It took me ages to find it, but eventually I did and tried the door. It was locked, but I rang the bell anyway. Two guys came to the door and I explained that I was there for the art gallery I had read about. They said it was just a short film and they weren’t starting for another two hours, but they’d put it on just for me if I’d like. Sure, why not? I entered the huge warehouse space and sat on a blanke and watched a very strange film called Revolutionet. It was about fifteen minutes long and featured a series of people sunbathing. Super-artsy.

I then made my way over to Jamtil, the open-air museum featuring Swedish life throughout the ages. It was a veritable ghost town so I left rather quickly and went back to the university where I inquired about studying there (they have an incredibly enticing way in which their studies are organized in each semester) and then went to a desk at the library to just read and take notes (soooo relaxing. Just what I’ve been needing).

Knowing Norway is just around the corner, visiting the university, and travelling around meeting new people and seeing old places is really helping me get my head even further set on my shoulders. It’s reinforcing many of the ideals that I developed over the past year (and especially the summer). I’m becoming much more confident in understanding what’s important to me, and what sort of things I enjoy.

This is also something of a difficulty in that while I understand that I want a life in the academic sphere, I’m not sure what part of that sphere I wish to rest in. I listen to my science podcasts and I’m torn towards research (again, I know). I visit the museums and I want to explore archaeology (again, I know). I listen to the languages around me and work to communicate in as many as possible and I want to study language (who’d’ve thunk it?). I read the literature in my bag and I want to find out how to become a palimpsest specialist.

At the least, I know that I want to study in Norway (even if the country does not meet my expectations) because the education itself is free. This means I can spend time exploring my interests a little further (although I sincerely hope to have much of it sorted out by the time I finish my travels. Once I have explored the Mediterranean area I will sit down and try to work out all my conflicting thoughts). Of course, in order to study at the undergraduate level I need to learn Norwegian. German or French (or even possibly Icelandic) would be more useful in the long run, but to make these short term plans work Norwegian is necessary. Hey, at least it’s the easiest language for an English speaker to learn!

Hopefully, when I’m about one month from being done with my travels I’ll start looking for a job in Norway. Then I’ll have about half a year to explore my interests while I work and build up my language skills in preparation for applying for a specific program.

I have but one rant to end this entry: shopping as a tourism prospect. Seriously, how much shit could you possibly need to buy, how much space do you really need to fill, that you have exhausted all retail outlets in a hundred kilometer radius of your home and must fly overseas to a big city, from which you must take a train to a small city, to do more shopping!? C’mon! It is not a wonderful thing that a happy little town like Östersund now has an H&M. What? The fifty H&M’s near you weren’t good enough?