What is this? (#4)
How to finish a dissertation
OK, I have to admit that that title is a bit overblown, but I wanted to get people’s attention. Did it work? I wasn’t going to write anything here about my work schedule, since I figured that work schedules aren’t a very sexy topic (unlike, for instance, ham). But then I realized that I know a lot of other people who are trying to finish a thesis or have recently done so, and therefore might also be thinking a lot about this topic. And might even have some advice to share. I certainly hope so.
Where have I been?
Seeing the world through ham-colored glasses
[For an explanation of what’s going on here, you might read Incognito ergo sum.]
The day I left Albarracín, I was standing at the bus stop, waiting for the bus—and I really mean the bus, as there is only one per day that goes to the provincial capital—when I started chatting with an elderly couple, also waiting for the bus. They were adorable, well dressed and diminutive—I could easily have rested my elbows on their heads, though as you might suspect, this is not considered polite in Spain either—and happy to chat with the loopy foreigner who just won’t leave town. The old man (89 years old, as he announced to me), pointed to some lumpy overhanging rocks protruding from the mountainside, looking a bit like suspended bundles, and said “You know why those are still there?” I politely answered that I did not. “Because they’re not ham!” And he laughed.
Sketches of lunch
[For an explanation of what’s going on here, you might read Incognito ergo sum.]
My schedule here includes one meal per day in a restaurant. Given that restriction, it’s clear that lunch is the one to go for. Spain does lunch the way the US does an “international police action” (except that the Spanish have an exit plan). Perhaps this explains why they simply call lunch la comida: “the meal”, or even just “food”.
What language do your products speak?
[For an explanation of what’s going on here, you might read Incognito ergo sum.]
I really like the flat I’m staying in here in Albarracín. It has a beautiful view despite the medieval moisture level. It also has all the modern conveniences, including a dishwasher that speaks Italian.
Yes, that’s right, every few days, I am forced to have a conversation with the dishwasher in Italian. I am not surprised that in this little trout-fishing town you have to go elsewhere to buy a large appliance, but I would have thought that Spain had a few dishwashers on offer. At any rate, every once in a while, once my peace of mind has accumulated to the necessary level, I try to run the dishwasher. It never goes well.
I’ll have seen a bar in Albarracín
[For an explanation of what’s going on here, you might read Incognito ergo sum.]
I am reasonably pleased with the title of this piece—though I have to concede that it doesn’t come anywhere close to Dorothy Parker’s brilliant “I’d rather have a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy”—not least because there are surprisingly many bars in Albarracín, some of which I have managed to see. I say “managed to see” in part because my work schedule leaves me only limited time for bar-crawling, and in part because the bars here are closed surprisingly often, especially for Spain.
The rain in Spain is mainly just a pain
[For an explanation of what’s going on here, you might read Incognito ergo sum.]
I got to Albarracín on the evening of my second day in Spain, after two trains and a taxi ride. Albarracín is a small town (1100 inhabitants) in the mountains, half an hour’s drive from Teruel, the smallish capital of the second-most sparsely inhabited province of Spain (after Soria). It is in the Comunidad autónoma de Aragón, an arid region in the northeast of Spain. For some reason, the area appeals to me greatly. Perhaps I am somewhat attracted to extremes and harsh conditions (something my wife would probably agree with), but perhaps it is also because this place is so very different from the lushly verdant and populous northeast of the United States, where I spent my formative years.
Bienvenido a casa
[For an explanation of what’s going on here, you might read Incognito ergo sum.]
I touched down at Barajas airport in Madrid on a plane full of Swedes who where on their way to represent Absolut vodka at a trade fair. A very jolly bunch, as Swedes go. While talking with the young woman beside me, it occurred to me that I was in a position to perform an experiment. You see, people I know in Sweden tell me that while I have a foreign accent, I don’t have an English (much less American) accent. I decided to test that assertion, and out of the blue, I asked my seat-mate where she thought I was from. A bit taken aback, she said, “Well… you’re not Swedish, right?” I confirmed this, and suggested that she make a guess. She was completely unable to guess where I was from. So I suppose I have to concede that my friends are right; apparently I’m just a vanilla foreigner.
Incognito ergo sum
Oh yeah, I’m a surfer dude
Have you ever visited a city, stayed in a big hotel, eaten in the tourist restaurants, seen the top ten sights, taken the duck tour, and secretly wondered all the time what kinds of things a local would show you?
Imagine that when you went to a foreign city, you could just grab a resident, stay at their place, and have them show you their favorite local hangouts and things to do. Surely there are people who are friendly enough that they would do this for you. Imagine that there were a directory of such people, so that you could just call them whenever you wanted.
In-Between Days
It’s now late May, and I’m right in between two trips. We’re also in between seasons here in Sweden. We often seem to be in between seasons in Sweden. In fact, the Swedes—especially those from the north—count far more than our four seasons. They have, for example, vårvinter and höstvinter, or “spring-winter” and “autumn-winter”. These are the tail ends of winter, which are considerable. In fact, I believe that if you talk to the Sami people of northern Sweden, they will even distinguish vintervår and vinterhöst, or “winter-spring” and “winter-autumn”, which are the cold ends of spring and autumn.
What is this? (#3)
Unfortunate choice of image
The new Pope is visiting the US. Not being a Catholic, I do not get too excited about such things. However, being a former resident of Boston, I am very angry with the Catholic church for its long-standing tolerance of priests who sexually abuse children.
Even so, I find it possible to laugh at this very unfortunate choice of image in the New York Times:
A pastoral moment of disorientation
Do you occasionally have these “Where am I and what am I doing” moments? Moments when you suddenly see yourself from without, as though you had stepped out for a while and have just come back, and now can’t figure out how in the world you’ve ended up where you are? I do.
Last night I suddenly found myself standing in the middle of a country road, as the last light evaporated in the west, standing behind a group of eight Swedish people, all holding perfectly still.
What is this? (#2)
Alright, I realize that the What is this? series will never become a series until there are at least two entries, so here is number two.
Days with names
I’ve decided to kick off the “Strange/Nice things about Sweden” series with something that seemed strange to me at first, but which I have come to regard as nice. That is the concept of name-day (namnsdag). You see, in North America, we celebrate people’s birthdays. In Sweden, they do that too. However, in addition to celebrating birthdays, they also celbrate people’s name-days, or saint’s days.
And now for the completely different things
This is a quick announcement to say that I am starting two new categories of posts here, which I am calling “Strange things about Sweden” and “Nice things about Sweden”, which should be pretty self-explanatory. I think it’s time to start letting the world in on the more interesting and exotic aspects of life here. So stay tuned.
I’m sure at least one person will ask what I will do with aspects that are both strange and nice. We will have to cross this bridge when we come to it. If need be, I can always assign both categories (which puts me one up over Linnaeus), so let’s not lose any sleep over it.
Välkommen till Sverige!
Posted by: Gregory
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Winter Shminter
It recently occurred to me that I haven’t written anything here in several weeks. To my vast legions of fans, I apologize. I hope you have been able to go about your lives without too much psychic distress.
Fact is, I haven’t been writing because I’ve been really busy working on my dissertation. Yes, I’ve finally gotten some traction and have begun to put in a lot of work, and now there is a light at the end of the tunnel. So I’m feeling good, despite the fact that the weather outside is the meteorological equivalent of stomach flu.
The sky is beyond the limit
Yesterday I saw something that in my well over ten thousand evenings I have never seen before. It was mid-afternoon and had been a lovely day, so I decided to take a walk. Since moving to northern Sweden, I have developed the habit of taking walks in the afternoon in order to enjoy what light there is to enjoy. And since late December, the sunset has been receding deliciously in the direction of midnight, though at this point it still comes at about a quarter past three. So half an hour before then, I set out for a walk.
I crossed the bridge near my house and came to a park where I had a good view in all directions. Low, dark clouds were rolling in on the wind, which had started to pick up, but the sun will still trying to get through in the south-west. And then I noticed something higher up in the sky.