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| Enjoying the icy air with some friends on deck. |
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Monday, January 31, 2011
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Trip to Gamla Stan (Old Town)
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| Departing my Sundbyberg neighborhood on a snowy morning. |
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| The morning commute begins! |
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| Stockholm's Royal Palace |
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| Stockholm Cathedral |
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| Concluding the trip with a walk through Stockholms Universitet. |
Panoramic view of Old Town from beside the water.
Monday, January 24, 2011
In Stockholm!
A Stockholm-themed excerpt from my journal entry on Sunday, January 23:
It's real! And it is beautiful and efficient and thrilling. Yes, this is how we're expected
to feel at first, but the coolness of this city would be apparent to anyone.
This jet-lagged writer just couldn't hide his excitement about arriving in Stockholm. Reviewing the italicized words above, I'm so happy to realize that the writer was me! How lucky I am to be having this new experience!
My first flight, from Hartford to NYC, arrived so early that the information for my next flight (to Sweden) was not yet posted, but as I walked past the many gates of JFK's international terminal, I became quite aware when I was finally in the right place. Tall, blond, and athletic men and women filled the seats, and I was more than happy to sit down with them.
Seven sleepless hours later, I was flying over the frozen lakes of Sweden, feeling completely blown away by the 8am sunrise.
My attention was taken away from the window as a stewardess asked me, in Swedish, if I would like anything to drink. Asking her, in English, if I could have some water, I noticed the passenger sitting next to me perk up, opening his eyes for the first time during the whole trip.
"Is that an American accent?" he asked.
Of course I told him that it was, and we soon began to chat. He was from Kodiak Island, Alaska, where he makes a living by installing irrigation lines (sounds awful to me, too, but he makes a six-figure salary and gets two weeks off for every two he's on). He was flying to Sweden to visit his fiancé and child, and he had plenty to tell me about the place.
"First of all," he said, "the women in Sweden are just incredible." He then went on a rant about how ugly the women in Alaska are and how his hometown is so barren that he can stand on his back deck and fire rounds out of his rifle without anyone hearing a thing. But the guy meant well, and, looking around at the women on the flight, I knew that his first statement had been quite accurate. I also accepted his advice to try Swedish meatballs and pancakes as soon as possible, and I am quite excited for those meals. But at that moment, I was most excited to step off the plane and begin my adventure.
As was to be expected, I could read all the signs, for they were printed in both Swedish and English:
The airport was the cleanest, brightest, and most quiet one I have ever been in. There was one 7-Eleven, but I walked right past it without a single twinge of homesickness. I was so ready for the new experiences to begin. They did as soon as I got into a taxi that, despite using the same GPS system that I myself own, displayed a gauge I had never before seen:
The rest of the day went by fast. I moved into my apartment, resisted the urge to take a nap, and met the rest of the students at a dinner in downtown Stockholm. The subway ride into the city was just as quiet, clean, and smooth as my Arlanda airport experience had been. In fact, to be environmentally friendly, Swedish escalators do not move at all unless people step in front of them; thus, escalators never function unless people are actually there to need them.
Purchasing milk was the most difficult part of my day (I couldn't even greet people in Swedish at this point... but "hej" means "hello," and it's pronounced like "hey" - how cool is that?!), quickly surpassing the challenge of finding the right milk in the first place (why is it spelled 3 different ways on 3 different containers... where is my familiar gallon jug... why the heck is there a 3% option?!). But hey, the "go green" theme still rang true in this venue, as I walked out of the store with the milk container in my hands because I had not thought to ask, and pay for, a plastic bag.
Check out the European license plates:
And my apartment, from the outside:
Being here in Stockholm is so gosh darn cool. Sweden is like its own little world of sorts. It has stayed out of war for 200 years and has its own health care plan, language, and currency. It looks just similar enough to the States to make me think that nothing is that different... until I realize that I cannot read, write, speak, or comprehend the language that everyone speaks. I'm working to change that, though, and the language barrier challenge is one that I will enjoy for its realness but also work to overcome. I have had fascinating interactions with several Swedes and will describe those encounters in my next post. Until then, just know that I am having the time of my life in a country that has impressed the heck out of me during my first two days in it! I'm here with some awesome students who have already become good friends, and I'm so grateful for each new moment.
It's real! And it is beautiful and efficient and thrilling. Yes, this is how we're expected
to feel at first, but the coolness of this city would be apparent to anyone.
This jet-lagged writer just couldn't hide his excitement about arriving in Stockholm. Reviewing the italicized words above, I'm so happy to realize that the writer was me! How lucky I am to be having this new experience!
My first flight, from Hartford to NYC, arrived so early that the information for my next flight (to Sweden) was not yet posted, but as I walked past the many gates of JFK's international terminal, I became quite aware when I was finally in the right place. Tall, blond, and athletic men and women filled the seats, and I was more than happy to sit down with them.
Seven sleepless hours later, I was flying over the frozen lakes of Sweden, feeling completely blown away by the 8am sunrise.
My attention was taken away from the window as a stewardess asked me, in Swedish, if I would like anything to drink. Asking her, in English, if I could have some water, I noticed the passenger sitting next to me perk up, opening his eyes for the first time during the whole trip.
"Is that an American accent?" he asked.
Of course I told him that it was, and we soon began to chat. He was from Kodiak Island, Alaska, where he makes a living by installing irrigation lines (sounds awful to me, too, but he makes a six-figure salary and gets two weeks off for every two he's on). He was flying to Sweden to visit his fiancé and child, and he had plenty to tell me about the place.
"First of all," he said, "the women in Sweden are just incredible." He then went on a rant about how ugly the women in Alaska are and how his hometown is so barren that he can stand on his back deck and fire rounds out of his rifle without anyone hearing a thing. But the guy meant well, and, looking around at the women on the flight, I knew that his first statement had been quite accurate. I also accepted his advice to try Swedish meatballs and pancakes as soon as possible, and I am quite excited for those meals. But at that moment, I was most excited to step off the plane and begin my adventure.
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| Arlanda Airport |
 |
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| KILOMETERS PER HOUR! |
The rest of the day went by fast. I moved into my apartment, resisted the urge to take a nap, and met the rest of the students at a dinner in downtown Stockholm. The subway ride into the city was just as quiet, clean, and smooth as my Arlanda airport experience had been. In fact, to be environmentally friendly, Swedish escalators do not move at all unless people step in front of them; thus, escalators never function unless people are actually there to need them.
Purchasing milk was the most difficult part of my day (I couldn't even greet people in Swedish at this point... but "hej" means "hello," and it's pronounced like "hey" - how cool is that?!), quickly surpassing the challenge of finding the right milk in the first place (why is it spelled 3 different ways on 3 different containers... where is my familiar gallon jug... why the heck is there a 3% option?!). But hey, the "go green" theme still rang true in this venue, as I walked out of the store with the milk container in my hands because I had not thought to ask, and pay for, a plastic bag.
Check out the European license plates:
And my apartment, from the outside:
Being here in Stockholm is so gosh darn cool. Sweden is like its own little world of sorts. It has stayed out of war for 200 years and has its own health care plan, language, and currency. It looks just similar enough to the States to make me think that nothing is that different... until I realize that I cannot read, write, speak, or comprehend the language that everyone speaks. I'm working to change that, though, and the language barrier challenge is one that I will enjoy for its realness but also work to overcome. I have had fascinating interactions with several Swedes and will describe those encounters in my next post. Until then, just know that I am having the time of my life in a country that has impressed the heck out of me during my first two days in it! I'm here with some awesome students who have already become good friends, and I'm so grateful for each new moment.
Monday, January 17, 2011
America Walks to Dunkin
There must be something about cold and snowy conditions that draws my friends and me into hungry expeditions through the elements. Just two days after the jaunt to Taco Bell, I found myself marching to Dunkin Donuts with a small group of comrades. It was 5am and zero degrees Fahrenheit.
Included in the group were gentlemen from Delaware, Oregon, Minnesota, New York and Missouri. Despite the bitterly cold morning, we all manned up, made the trip, devoured some doughnuts, and never uttered a single complaint. It was, after all, the best morning of Interterm!
Props to our winter gear for making the event as pleasant as it was.
On a non doughnut-related note, it should be pointed out that Dash and I have both gotten lost on back-to-back days on the same country road – Southeast Street. Yesterday, Dash’s morning walk turned into a disorienting five-and-a-half hour trek through multiple towns. This morning, one missed turn off of Southeast doubled the length of my run. It did, however, introduce me to a beautiful part of western Massachusetts that was satisfyingly far-removed from the stuffy atmosphere of a college campus. Check it out, but don’t be its next victim.
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| Brian and I look over our box. |
Included in the group were gentlemen from Delaware, Oregon, Minnesota, New York and Missouri. Despite the bitterly cold morning, we all manned up, made the trip, devoured some doughnuts, and never uttered a single complaint. It was, after all, the best morning of Interterm!
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| This box provided Dash with all three of his meals that day. |
Props to our winter gear for making the event as pleasant as it was.
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| Out of Dunkin and on to Everest. |
On a non doughnut-related note, it should be pointed out that Dash and I have both gotten lost on back-to-back days on the same country road – Southeast Street. Yesterday, Dash’s morning walk turned into a disorienting five-and-a-half hour trek through multiple towns. This morning, one missed turn off of Southeast doubled the length of my run. It did, however, introduce me to a beautiful part of western Massachusetts that was satisfyingly far-removed from the stuffy atmosphere of a college campus. Check it out, but don’t be its next victim.
The $5 Touchdown Box
No, I’m not in Sweden just yet. But, seeing as I have this new blog set up and ready to roll, an inaugural entry seemed rather pressing. In order to relate it to my upcoming trip, I’ll stick with the theme of “grand adventures” and describe to you a recent escapade.
I’m currently staying at Amherst College so that I can work in the Admissions Office and spend time with my school friends before ditching them for the entire semester. My pal Brian has been kind enough to house me, as I technically no longer have student status at Amherst and am without a room of my own.
That wasn’t the adventure. I just figured I’d set the stage for you a bit.
So five days ago (Wednesday, 1/12/11), I was loafing around with Brian and our friend Andrew. Evening was falling, and western Massachusetts was reaching the end of a 17-hour snowstorm that had landed more than a foot and a half of snow on campus. I was just grateful to be in a warm room, comfortably watching some TV. For Andrew, however, this wasn’t quite enough.
“We should go to Taco Bell tonight,” he said.
“Yeah, let’s do it.” chimed in Brian.
They wanted to walk all the way there, but we eventually decided that we would take the bus to the mall, then walk across Route 9 to reach T-Bell and obtain the long-coveted $5 Touchdown Box. With a Mountain Dew Baja Blast, of course.
CLICK HERE BUT DON'T DROOL
Andrew called the restaurant and asked if they were open for business.
“Yes,” the angelic voice responded. “We opened at 5pm.”
We were out the door within seconds.
Alone on one of the only buses that was running on a normal schedule, the three of us merrily discussed the upcoming meal. Andrew and Brian hadn’t been to T-Bell since early December, and my last trip had been well before that.
Keep in mind, here, that we really like Taco Bell.
The bus arrived at the Hampshire Mall, dropping us off about a quarter of a mile from our final destination. We began the trek through the parking lot, and even continued through some pretty deep piles of snow when we reached the end of the plowed lot. Brian and I surged through the snow in our Vasque hiking boots. Andrew, donning his falling-apart Asics running shoes, led the way with freezing feet but a smile on his face. Taco Bell is, after all, his place. In fact, Andrew was the only one of us three who had the joint’s phone number in his contact list.
After we traversed wet streets that had no plowed sidewalks or shoulders, jaywalked across Route 9 because there wasn’t a pedestrian crossing, and ran through snow up to our waists, we encountered a locked door at Taco Bell.
Conversing with the branch manager through the glass door, we pleaded for him to let us in. You said on the phone that you were open at 5!
But the manager said that only the drive-through portion of the restaurant had opened at 5. Furthermore, the man shot down our request to walk through the drive-through
Making one last attempt to change the manager’s mind, I called though the glass, “We’ll order a lot of food if you let us in!”
No luck. The manager shook his head and walked away.
We spent several minutes just standing out in the snow, trying to figure out what to do next. The school dining hall was already closed, so we had no food options back on campus. And although our Taco Bell dreams were taking a serious hit, leaving the restaurant would signify defeat, which was something we could not allow to happen after being wronged so.
Andrew pulled out his phone and called the branch. When the manager picked up, Andrew kept it simple.
“Hi, I’m the guy standing outside your restaurant. We just came here from Amherst College and just want some food.”
30 seconds later, we stood at the drive-through window, where the manager had invited us to go to discuss the situation with him. Observing: “you guys must really like Taco Bell,” he allowed us to order our food at the window while standing outside in the cold, which we gladly did.
So we had ice cold drinks and boxes of food in our hands and no place to consume them. We walked to McDonalds. Closed. Next up, the mall’s food court. Closed. By this point, our drink hands had frozen and the food had cooled off. But when we finally found a haven in Target, the only place open, we were more than ready to chow down.
Folks, I highly recommend the $5 Touchdown Box.
I’m currently staying at Amherst College so that I can work in the Admissions Office and spend time with my school friends before ditching them for the entire semester. My pal Brian has been kind enough to house me, as I technically no longer have student status at Amherst and am without a room of my own.
That wasn’t the adventure. I just figured I’d set the stage for you a bit.
So five days ago (Wednesday, 1/12/11), I was loafing around with Brian and our friend Andrew. Evening was falling, and western Massachusetts was reaching the end of a 17-hour snowstorm that had landed more than a foot and a half of snow on campus. I was just grateful to be in a warm room, comfortably watching some TV. For Andrew, however, this wasn’t quite enough.
“We should go to Taco Bell tonight,” he said.
“Yeah, let’s do it.” chimed in Brian.
They wanted to walk all the way there, but we eventually decided that we would take the bus to the mall, then walk across Route 9 to reach T-Bell and obtain the long-coveted $5 Touchdown Box. With a Mountain Dew Baja Blast, of course.
CLICK HERE BUT DON'T DROOL
Andrew called the restaurant and asked if they were open for business.
“Yes,” the angelic voice responded. “We opened at 5pm.”
We were out the door within seconds.
Alone on one of the only buses that was running on a normal schedule, the three of us merrily discussed the upcoming meal. Andrew and Brian hadn’t been to T-Bell since early December, and my last trip had been well before that.
Keep in mind, here, that we really like Taco Bell.
The bus arrived at the Hampshire Mall, dropping us off about a quarter of a mile from our final destination. We began the trek through the parking lot, and even continued through some pretty deep piles of snow when we reached the end of the plowed lot. Brian and I surged through the snow in our Vasque hiking boots. Andrew, donning his falling-apart Asics running shoes, led the way with freezing feet but a smile on his face. Taco Bell is, after all, his place. In fact, Andrew was the only one of us three who had the joint’s phone number in his contact list.
After we traversed wet streets that had no plowed sidewalks or shoulders, jaywalked across Route 9 because there wasn’t a pedestrian crossing, and ran through snow up to our waists, we encountered a locked door at Taco Bell.
Conversing with the branch manager through the glass door, we pleaded for him to let us in. You said on the phone that you were open at 5!
But the manager said that only the drive-through portion of the restaurant had opened at 5. Furthermore, the man shot down our request to walk through the drive-through
Making one last attempt to change the manager’s mind, I called though the glass, “We’ll order a lot of food if you let us in!”
No luck. The manager shook his head and walked away.
We spent several minutes just standing out in the snow, trying to figure out what to do next. The school dining hall was already closed, so we had no food options back on campus. And although our Taco Bell dreams were taking a serious hit, leaving the restaurant would signify defeat, which was something we could not allow to happen after being wronged so.
Andrew pulled out his phone and called the branch. When the manager picked up, Andrew kept it simple.
“Hi, I’m the guy standing outside your restaurant. We just came here from Amherst College and just want some food.”
30 seconds later, we stood at the drive-through window, where the manager had invited us to go to discuss the situation with him. Observing: “you guys must really like Taco Bell,” he allowed us to order our food at the window while standing outside in the cold, which we gladly did.
So we had ice cold drinks and boxes of food in our hands and no place to consume them. We walked to McDonalds. Closed. Next up, the mall’s food court. Closed. By this point, our drink hands had frozen and the food had cooled off. But when we finally found a haven in Target, the only place open, we were more than ready to chow down.
Folks, I highly recommend the $5 Touchdown Box.
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