A Trusting Nation

This afternoon, I seated myself at a small table at my favorite local coffee shop and began settling in to read the new edition of an EU law textbook.  (Much has changed in EU law over the last year.  Every single textbook I bought last year during my master program is now outdated.  The part of my brain which works out the conspiracy theories wonders if the EU lawmakers are in cahoots with the EU law textbook publishers.  But I digress.)

The woman seated at the table next to me asked me in very polite Swedish if her infant's baby carriage was in my way.  "Of course not!" I said, smiling at the sleeping newborn.  "He sleeps like an angel" I told her.  "You should see him when he's awake" she quickly replied.  We laughed and then returned to our separate tasks.  A few minutes later she said "Excuse me, but do you mind keeping an eye on my son while I go to the restroom?"  I was sure that I misheard her so I asked her to repeat her question.  Nope.  I heard her correctly.  She asked me, a complete stranger, to keep watch over her child!  From my brief interaction with her, I judged her to be a reasonably sane and loving mother.  That made me wonder if this is a common occurrence in Sweden.  Is this country of nine million people so closely knit that they trust one another to look after each other's children?  If so, this may be my biggest "culture shock" moment yet.  

Speaking the Same Language

"It's really fun to get to know you all over again in another language" my husband said to me playfully in Swedish as we strolled through Gamla Stan, the old city of Stockholm, on our way home from dinner on Friday night. It is one of the nicest compliments he has ever given me:  I can now speak Swedish at a level where my personality has begun to shine through and where he actually enjoys speaking his native language with me.

We normally speak English together at home, owing equally to habit and laziness. But in Gamla Stan, in that beautiful restaurant which has been in existence for over 400 years, it seemed that only the tourists were speaking English.   (The semi-annoying couple at the table next to us underscored that fact.)  So we did it. I set my perfectionist self aside and spoke my unique version of Swedish, while he found the patience that he has sometimes lacked on similar occasions in the past and we spoke the same language.  

Stray Cat Strut

In the Mediterranean, cats seem as numerous as people.  When my husband and I visited Malta last winter, we were overwhelmed by the number of fuzzy felines who craved our attention and our food.  Two friends of ours, an American expat couple who live in Turkey, often post pictures of the stray cats in their area who depend upon the kindness of the neighborhood's cat lovers for sustenance.  Here in Scandinavia, it's a different story.  Temperatures can dip below freezing for about six months of the year, making outdoor living difficult to impossible for a domesticated animal.  In most areas, residents neatly dispose of garbage - so there is not a ready supply of food for homeless animals.  Against this backdrop, my husband and I were very surprised to spot a lonely kitty standing outside of our local subway station tonight.  This slightly skittish fur ball tried to give us the impression that he was streetwise, but he betrayed himself when he was nearly run over by a bus.  We had no idea what to do.  In the US, we would call animal control.  Here, we don't have a clue.  The cat appeared clean and well fed.  Most likely, this is someone's pet.  At least I hope so.  He followed us for a while, but after a few minutes he appeared to have reached the edge of his comfort zone.  If he's still there tomorrow, we'll take him in and make sure he's fed.  

The First Frost

I've lived in Stockholm, Sweden for a little over a year now.  Having survived one long and brutal winter, I'd like to think that I can handle anything the Nordic weather gods throw my way.  Still, the prospect of facing the first night of "minusgrader" (temperatures which fall below 32F/0C) in mid-October is a bit depressing.  It's as if my mind views the previous winter as some sort of ultimate challenge, like climbing Mt. Everest or trekking to the South Pole.  It's nice to be able to say I've done it once, but who in their right mind would choose to do this AGAIN?  As quickly as the thought enters my mind, the answer comes: Me.  That's who would choose to do this again.   (Whether I'm in my right mind in so doing remains a subject of debate, I guess.)  Stockholmers complain about the weather all the time, but they accept it as part of the the deal:  endure long, dark winters in exchange for clean air, a comfortable life where most people work to live rather than live to work, and six weeks of vacation every year.  Oh, and publicly funded healthcare and education.  It's at this moment in my thought process that I realize, I'm becoming one of them.  I've accepted the deal.