Election time

The big election day was the weekend before last— we had a few other things on our minds so didn't pay too much attention at the time I'm afraid— but I did get into town to take some pictures of the campaigning and the little huts ("valstugor") that each political party had put up to be a center point for distributing literature, have rallies, etc. The huts were set up in the main square in town (the one that the buses don't go through just at the moment!). They split themselves up neatly and by color coding: the left-leaning (Rödgröna, the'redgreens') parties on one side, the center/right folks (The Alliance, the 'blues') on the other side. Rödgröna are what you might expect: the communists, the social democrats, and the environmentalists (although the greens do not always hold with the reds in voting). Joining the redgreens were Sweden's famous Piratpartiet, the Pirate Party, who value freedom of expression and bandwidth above all and appear to have claimed purple as their color.

We have been learning about politics in Swedish class for the last month of course, and I did a small presentation on Feministisk Initiativ, the Feminist Party (the 'pinks', I guess) and their charismatic leader Gudrun Schyman, who's fun. They aren't really a political party yet, as they have not gotten enough votes for a member of parliament, and they don't have an . But I went to the Uppsala rally, where I got a couple balloons and a button right off the lapel of our local candidate. "Please vote for us," she said, "even if we don't get a seat in Parliament, if we get just 1%, we can have a real election hut next year!"

The Girl who was Annoyed by Stieg Larsson

I have heard that the Stieg Larsson thrillers have been all the rage in the US; of course they were popular here a little beforehand. Hollywood has taken notice, and they are filming the first book now ("The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo" in English, "Män som hatar kvinnor" på svenska). (Of course it was already made into a perfectly decent movie in Swedish, but never mind.) And... they have decided to film parts of the movie in Uppsala! (The line at the bottom of the sign says "Uppsala. Borrowed by Oscar. Every day since 1984 [when the last movie, "Fanny and Alexander," was shot here].)

However, Uppsala is the setting for some flashback scenes, and in order to make a block or two in Uppsala look like it's the 1960s, they're going to be doing some set-building and facade renovation along the way, and so they have decided to close all of Drottninggatan ('Queen Street'), which runs more or less from the castle down to the main square. All buses running from west of town (that is, from our place, or from my place of work) use this street. Now all these buses have to make a quite long detour to the south, around the hospital complex, and of course cannot drop people off right in town. Not a big deal for most of the populace, I think, but for those of us who consider five blocks to be a bit of a hike... well, it's quite inconvenient.

Okay, I confess: mostly I'm mad because it's going to make it very hard for me to try to sneak into town and catch a glimpse of Daniel Craig. I am going to have to send a spy on a bike with a camera. And yes, I fully plan to see the movie, and giggle when I see the streets I know so well, and complain to everybody within hearing range about how much of a pain it was when they were filming here.

(If you enjoyed the books, you may enjoy this parody, "The Girl Who Fixed the Umlaut.")

Fauxll

Summer appears to have ended here. Actually, it ended on August 23, according to the Swedish Meteorological and Hydrological Institute.

That morning, in a press conference that was supposed to be about the low pressure system sweeping through the south of the country and triggering gale warnings in the Skagerrak, one Linnea Rehn was asked if this was the start of Autumn. Her response, as far as I've been able to piece it together from various radio and newspaper reports, ran something along the lines of:

No not yet. When the average temperatures fall under 10 degrees Celsius, then summer is officially over, according to the definition. It is August, and the summer heat probably won't ever come back; but one never knows.

This isn't fall; it's just a fall-like weather pattern.

So I'm just going to close the windows, so that the rain-like precipitation and cold-like wind doesn't make my head-cold-like, umm, cold any worse.

Vacation in Switzerland

We had two and half days of touring in Switzerland—should have been three and a half, but for the infamous behavior of EasyJet, about which Joe has promised to write later—anyway, we still had some time to fill with touristing.

We landed finally in Geneva on Thursday afternoon, where we were met by G. who was in the area anyway, and he loaded us onto a train for Neuchâtel, getting out himself at a half-way point for more wedding preparations. (The train ride, though quiet, punctual, and smooth, was not terribly encouraging for the rest of the weekend, as the rain pelted down...) We were then picked up at the train station by C., G.'s mother, who gave us a quick driving tour of town for orientation. Then to their house... and what a house! A spacious three full stories broken into three apartments, with different branches of the G. family living on each one, each one owning their share of the whole place. After some coffee, and showers, and rest, we gathered for dinner, during which a bright double rainbow manifested on Lac de Neuchâtel. Not much was visible past the lake on the first evening, but we were promised views of the Pre-Alps for sure, and perhaps even Jungfrau in the Swiss alps and Mont Blanc in the French Alps if the weather cleared.

On Friday we started the day with a walk to a cemetery nearby. A sign at the entrance said that visitors should not play football, among other things, but who could possibly do so on such a steep pitch? Some of the graves reminded Joe more of New Orleans than any other place he's seen, and neither of us had seen wall niches quite like these. The cemetery has an absolutely beautiful view of Lac de Neuchâtel, which we sat and stared at for a while.

We headed out then see the town. We started off at the base of the steep hill that has the old prison tower and church at the top, where there was some street art that defied explanation. The town has lots of small narrow streets and alleyways, and a beautiful exterior circular staircase in one of the tiny courtyards, made of the yellow limestone that is a hallmark of the area. Neuchâtel is famous for its ornate public fountains, and it was at one of these that we tan into G.'s best man, who is also G., so I will cal him G2. G2 didn't stay with us long, claiming to be out and about on various wedding-related errands. After while we found ourselves back in the plaza where we started... and there was G2, sitting at a table at a cafe, taking his ease with a cup of coffee! (Although it turned out that he was waiting for G.'s sister, and they really were on wedding business.) We had chocolate milkshakes and took our ease for an hour, hearing some fun stories from G2. about life as a journalist in a small energetic town.

We went next to the collégiale area, up on top of the hill, with its cobblestones and picturesque old buildings and reform church, complete with imposing statue of Guillaume Farel, who looks like he is about to brain you with a bible ("When I was little I was scared of him," confessed G.'s mom). Back at home, we made preparations for the next day's wedding, and G.'s sister L. and her boyfriend T. made pizzas for dinner.

Sunday, the day after the wedding, started a little late in the day, as you might imagine, and so we missed the boat trip around the lake that we had planned on. But that was fine, because the weather was so pleasant that we decided we'd rather have an even more intimate encounter with Lac de Neuchâtel, and go swimming. We went first to the marina where G.'s father keeps his sailboat, and walked around the docks. Then we went to the beach, and spent quite a while paddling around in the water, which made Joe and me quite happy. As this is a city beach, there were showers, toilets, and ice cream stands, but a treat we did not expect was that the orchestra of Biel was playing from a small stage, which we went and listened to for a few minutes on our way out. It was quite windy, and at one point everyone's sheet music flew off their stands; Joe plucked a score out of the air with a skill that any base baller would admire.

Dinner was an extra treat, a special request that D. had made to her new in-laws: a traditional Swiss raclette, which is both a cheese and a procedure, and rather like a fondue. The G. family tradition at least is to have pickled mushrooms, onions, and cornichon as well as small boiled potatoes at the ready, over which is poured raclette cheese that everyone has broiled to their own taste at the table. Yum!

We were genuinely sorry to leave on Monday morning, but leave we did, without much bother (it turned out that we had both been secretly hoping for a 24-hour delay like the one we had on the way out, so that they would have to put us up in a hotel in Geneva for the night). The train from Neuchâtel to Geneva was on time (of course), the plane left only one hour late, the bus rides home to Uppsala dry and uneventful (we were lucky, it turned out that we had just missed the biggest rainfall of the year). It was fun to gather up our Swiss loot. Wine, cheese, chocolate, plums fresh from the G.'s tree—how could one go wrong?

Woman, best friend of human

As a little vacation, we attended the wedding of our Swiss friends G. and D. this last weekend. We stayed in the town of Neuchâtel, while the wedding itself was held in Coppet, with a reception in Crissier. Lots happened, so the report will be delivered in parts...

I'll start with the apéro and dinner at a 17th century mansion, now the Restaurant de Bois-Genoud, complete with a sculpture exhibit on the lawn. The weather was sunny and warm, and the wine at the apéro was cool, refreshing. The company was somewhat cosmopolitan, as G. and D. have friends from many places in the world— we spent time much of the time before dinner talking to a couple of Belorussian scientists living in Lausanne, a German enterpreneur living in Philadelphia, and G.'s sister's Belgian boyfriend, a photographer.

I don't know how traditionally Swiss this wedding party was, but the dinner-time entertainments consisted mostly of animations; that is, small skits or musical performances delivered by friends and family, some of them simple (for instance, G.'s aunt and uncle sang a comic tune), others elaborate (between dessert and coffee we were all herded outside to watch a small play). I delivered a 60-second skål to the happy couple early in the evening, and was the only one to do so, so I think that it may have been a little exotic.

Toasts at our table, on the other hand, were nearly non-stop. We had been seated with the Belorussians, Vladimir and Tatiana (if there is a Russian equivalent of Jennifer and Joe, perhaps that is it), and the topic of traditional toasts came up. Vladimir offered up a common Russian starter, "Peace between nations," and then we went around the table and everyone came up with several more. After a while of this, and after some wine had been imbibed, and after some humorous comment on someone's part that I laughed at but felt was slightly sexist, I proposed the next toast. "To women!", I said, and clinked glasses with Tatiana, who laughed and agreed. Not to be left out, Vladimir grabbed his glass, and offered up an elaboration: "To woman. Best friend of human!"

The evening ended with dancing, which G. and D. started off with "A Fifth of Beethoven," choreographed by G.'s sister, a professional dancer, and eventually including the entire 8-person wedding party. Free-form dancing after that, with my favorite new find being the techno-pop of Helmut Fritz). Joe and I took a walk out back to see the stars, where Joe got slightly waylaid by Vladimir ("Come, my American friend, I get you a beer!"), and I saw a meteorite flashing against the Milky Way. A little more dancing before we left for the 45 minute ride back to Neuchâtel, finally getting to bed at about 03h30m. A wonderful day, 7 août 2010...

Cruisin' in Åland

Earlier in the spring, our upstairs neighbor P., who is an enthusiast of America in general, told us that he wanted to do something nice for us, and take us somewhere (within driving distance, for reasons that will become clear) to see more of Sweden than we've been able to. After some debate, he decided to take us to one of his favorite places, which is not strictly speaking in Sweden at all. The Åland island chain lies between Sweden and Finland, and is politically a part of Finland, although the residents speak a dialect of Swedish, and the islands enjoy some degree of autonomy that includes a tax exemption on alcohol. Many of the Baltic ferries therefore are based in Åland, so that they can sell booze cheap in their large duty-free stores. The eastern edge of Åland is only about a 2 hour ferry ride away, and it is a popular place to go for a week or so on holiday, while day trips are also popular.

The islands are beautiful, inhabited but not crowded (due to draconian residency requirements— you cannot purchase property, but must inherit it, P. said), but shockingly primitive when it comes to public transportation, as most people come here with their own cars. Fortunately, P. likes to drive. Even better, he likes to drive slowly. Driving slowly is not only better for sight-seeing, but is also a comfort when one finds oneself in a 1959 Ford Fairlane with a V8 engine but no seat belts or head rests.

We managed to have darn near the perfect day for this trip: sunny on the 1.5 hour car ride through the countryside to the ferry at Grisslehamn, then quite warm but not too hot on the ferry (although we got a little sunburned), then warm and partially cloudy, which was quite welcome as we had a picnic lunch and lazed about on the sandy beach at Degersand, near the town of Eckerö. The beach was busy, but not overcrowded, and to my joy, I have finally managed to go swimming in the Baltic. The water was quite nice— salty of course, but not too bad, and quite clear.

Then we drove across the main island to the other town, Mariehamn, enjoying the views of the farms and fields and numerous inlets and bays. There are plenty of old churches here, all now land-locked, but originally built on the sea so that people could arrive by boat. We passed a sign to another town, Kattnäs. "Cat Nose?" I said out loud, confusedly remembering that nose is näsa. P. gave me a sort of sideways look. "Yes," he said, "but no. 'Näs' is just a place surrounded by water." (Swedish for peninsula is halvö, which for some reason I find charming.) We drove into and around Mariehamn, with the windows down, and the CCR CD blasting from the speakers. "What is more American than cruising?" asked P. proudly, and we couldn't think of anything.

We headed back across to Eckerö, stopping at a nice little wooded place on the main road that looked like an abandoned campground, where we could also admire the red granite that the island is made of, and smell the wonderful smell of pine trees in the sun. We had brought fika supplies— hot and cold coffee, and cookies— and we had our fika directly out of the trunk, complete with one of the old pink plastic camping cups that have been in the family for decades and hauled around to everywhere. Those old American cars surely do have large trunks. Most of the cars I've ridden around in in Sweden could almost fit in it...

We got back to the ferry terminal in plenty of time, and talked more about the car, and P.'s restoration work on it. He searches diligently for genuine parts, often finding them online from places in Finland, oddly. His restorations iare not entirely contemporary for the car— for instance, there's an electronic lock on the trunk— and of course the CD player and new speakers. We looked at the buttons and pulls and other half-remembered controls on the dashboard. Above the AM radio are two buttons, one that has a "T" on it and another with a "C." None of us could figure out what they meant, although I vaguely recall seeing something like that on Grandpa's Ford trucks. Anyone who remembers what they mean, please let me know.

When we got back to Grisslehamn, we had a little wait to get out of the terminal parking lot, since there were a fair number of cars leaving the boat. The motor was running. A middle aged man stepped out directly in front of us and stopped. He bent down, and cupped his ear at the engine. P. obligingly put the car in neutral and revved it high. The man stood up, nodded in complete satisfaction, and walked on, as some onlookers laughed. A middle aged woman standing on the sidewalk waved, and gave P. a smile and a thumbs-up sign. The car is clearly a magnet, attracting all sorts of attention.

So it was a really good outing, and a fun day, and well worth three hours in a car and four on a ferry in order to go to a sandy beach, on a new body of water, for a summer afternoon. I will only mention that the concept of "beach" is something I am well familiar with, and Degersand was very pleasant indeed: nevertheless, the scale of it pales in comparison to the beaches of Lake Michigan. Anyone reading this who does not have to travel seven hours to get to a beach... well, just know that I am envious.