Jämtlands Höstmarknaden

Underbart! Another post about markets. There is a farmer's market every Saturday in the town square in Östersund, but this weekend is a special occasion: an Autumn-market. I am told this happens only once per year. Anyway, after my net-seminar this morning, it was nice to wander through the booths and talk to the old cheese-makers.

Stortorget, last Friday in September.

There were all sort of crafts.

Dalahäster

And what farmer's market would be complete without...candy. Godis. Loads of it. It's actually healthy if it's homemade--if you mix the sugar-packs and food-colourings in a kitchen. It changes the chemistry. I'll get a Nobel Prize for that insight.

Olika ostsorter, honung, & tjockmjölk, back at home. Not pictured: some  grönsaker ("vegetables"--literally "green-things")

I love the markets because it is such a nice opportunity to chat with the various vendors. And they have to oblige since they're trying to sell stuff. Anyway, I think it gets incrementally more enjoyable every week in proportion to the tongues new nimbleness wrought of seven days' practice. 

So everything is copacetic, or skookum (can you believe these words are legal?) and will be so as long as we never run out of canned Baltic herring.

Sundsvall in Two Parts: Featuring Falling Apples & the Consistency Thereof Along with Other Appearences Including the Widow-Maker

Part I: Featuring Falling Apples & the Consistency Thereof

I’m sitting on Nabotåget, på väg mot Sundsvall, listening to two fellows in the neighboring compartment discuss the inadequacies of Newtonian physics. It sounds pretty profound but it’s not. It’s elementary, really--something about the language makes me write that. Swedish is so simple, straightforward, childlike. “I speak Spanish to God, Italian to women, French to men, and German to my horse,” Charles V is said to have boasted. To children, or nostalgic train-passengers, any tongue but svenska would not meet the grade.
I am on my way to Sundsvall because the local Migrationverk is situated there—the “customs office,” approximately, where I will be mug-shot & fingerprinted like a criminal. This that I might finally get a residence permit to become “legal.” After a month in Sweden, I think this is time to take care of this task.
What a difference a day can make—yesterday night as I was packing my shoulder-sack for an early departure, there were rivers in the streets as Storsjön’s storm-clouds wrought their watery vengeance after a whole day without drizzle. This morning, it is clear and cold. We on Nabotåget, distinctly perceived this trick of the weather as we waited for a delayed train on the windy platform at the Central Station in Östersund before sunrise. But “All things are for the best in the best of all possible worlds,” as Pangloss reminds poor readers ad nauseum. But in humour, truth—even Voltaire’s tedious Neo-Classical pedantry. Lo! The cauld maurning makes the compartment extra cozy as I slice usufructables with my Swiss-Army knife and “pensively” dip them in my tin of cinnamon (I’m doing my best to conform to academic mood of my train-car). I don’ t taste any revisionist physics in my apples—the consistency smaks more of meal than of strings (these fruits are post-prime). Does this support quantum mechanix? I wonder if string-theory can describe the clumpage of cinnamon-granules. Relativity falls short, comparatively.

Part II: Konungens Återkomst

Through the window I’m watching the red houses, horses and haybails (both normal-coloured) rush by as we roll westwards—västerut mot Östersund. It was a beautiful day in Sundsvall—halfway between two Springs. It’s never going to snow (t)here: too coastal, too windy. Actually it will snow and melt in an interminable tango of break-up & re-freezing. That’s my prediction.
I meandered like the tourist that I am, shop-hopping and asking for directions just for a pretext to chat with folks. Between my arrival and departure, I made it to Sjögatan 17 (Migrationverkets new address) to take care of business. The rest of the visit was pure pleasure. I stopped at a coffee-shop to fill up my mug, took my shoes of, and wandered on the cobble-stones. I learned that tactic to meet people: “Aren’t you cold?” “What if you step on glass?” Bare-feet are a wonderfully underrated way to meet people. I can’t help bragging (since what else are blogs for)* that the second question of two interrogative women was about my dialect. “You’re from Norrland, aren’t you? (That’s a region of Sweden) I can tell by your dialekt.”
But enough with anectdotes and trifles. Now to return to a strain of substance: Naked toes! In their goofiness, they are the conversation-pieces nonpareil; the most potent people-meeters. Who has ever looked at toes without an ensuing urge to laugh, be it at Darwin, Dios or demi-urge, or whomever’s conceit we ought to credit for it’s particular sense of fun. And maybe most remarkable of all is that everybody’s toes are hilarious in their own unique way. The ultimate administer of justice is tailor who made men (and women), for he distributes ridiculousness with equanimity! He bestows his inspiration without bias but in an infinity of permutations. Let us show our gratitude to this most eternal of jesters by exposing our naked toes, even to the elements!

How big do you think was the apple that bonked Newt- upon the sconce? The size of a kiwi or a canteloupe?

*I'd duel any man brash enough to claim a blog were something other than a plot for little plantlets of self-flattery. Pools for Narcissuses to pine over through eternal navel-gazing. Beware the hazards of bloggership. "Rumpus-room" or "Widow-maker".... Sorry for the nonesense--I have to spill out all my English word-mongery here; my journal is strictly på svenska.

På väg att besöka Christer och Ulla

Yestern, Odin'sday, mefound meself on pilgrimage by footbridge 'crosst the straight, thence to visit Christer and Ulla. They live up in the heights of Frösön in a quaint house with a beautiful view. Christer and Ulla were both very nice, and they are letting me borrow Ulla's old bike. I got to sit in their garden and enjoy a cup of tea with Ulla (Christer had to take their Sakko for a bike-ride). Christer and Ulla are Åsa's parents; she is our neighbor in Alaska and she grew up in Östersund. Thank you Åsa for setting this up! I took these pictures on the journey, since I'm of the brand of pilgrim whose adherents bear digital cameras among their belongings.

Whence

Whither

A Random Am'rican

Christer & Ulla

Christer made sure the bike was just right...

Looking back at Östersund from Frösön.

With the bike, so expand the possibilities: yesterday after dinner I got to visit another grocery store that is farther from my apartment than my naked feet are wont to ramble. There I got to look for new eats and stuff.

A comparison of the usufructables of Western Canada and Sweden

On a trip through a neighborhood near campus I observed a sorrowful sight: a majestic tree with offerings unwanted. I, with naught but compassion in my heart (and dare I say a hunger 6 inches below) came back the very next day with a proposition to the owner of the tree.

"Hi. Would you mind if I picked up the apples on the ground?"

I returned to my dorm with a backpack full of half-rotted, worm-eaten, delicious fruit.

My belly size being a limiting factor in this equation, I decided to process these apples into applesauce. I finally succeeded in convincing my RA (room advisor) to check out the kitchen key from the front desk and let me use the stove. A jar of applesauce provided enough palm-grease.

Usufructables

The persistent hunter-gatherer, I. I can never concentrate on my rollerskis (writing this out made me see the potential danger of this situation) cause on the way out I'm scouting out the gatherables and envisioning the usufruct. And on the way back I'm executing. At least I have something to show for my lack of proper focus...

This maurning's bounty. Nettles (they're super good boiled with mushrooms and salt),  blodriska, wobbley-toppes (fjällig bläcksvampar). And some apples. I didn't steal them; I picked them up off the ground--I swear. Actually they're mostly bursted because of the frost this weekend, but still tasty like applesauce inside.

Saturday at Stortorget

Today was a special day because the sun finally "cleared" up our suspicions that he had moved on to more temperate meridians and gave us one last day of sunshine. In the big market square, the Jämtlandish farmers and crafters lined up right alongside of the resident Europeans so that one could walk down the booths and end up with everything from tubers and flatbread to French scarves and paella. Needless to say, I went exclusively for the goodstuff, but that's a side note. Miscellaneous markets weren't the only events on this beautiful lördag: 

The recycling company came out to show off its bins...

The city-bus company gave free tours of one of its machines...

And best of all...

An insurance company, whose offices border on Stortorget, organised mock-biathlon races for little kids--with real bibs and (almost) real rifles. The only things missing were the skis, but they're not meant for cobble-stones & in any case the kids didn't mind.

 

Note the prodigious display of patriotism by the various vendors. These Jämtlanders are patriotic--almost seperatist.

I spent a good amount of time bummeln around Stortorget chatting with vendors and civilians. Later on, I when back to my apartment and eventualy went to bed.* And when I wokeup there was frost.

*It's possible that I didn't brush my teeth cause I don't remember doing it.

Att studera vid Mittuniversitet, Campus Östersund

This post probably should have been the first. Now that it's three weeks and one day overdue, I figured I should write it.

I am studying at Mittuniversitet in Östersund for the Fall semester. It started at the end of August and goes until the middle of January. The university has three campi (thanks for the Latin plural, Nicky). Östersund is the biggest, with just over half of the students. There are two more on the Baltic, one in Sundsvall (where I have to go one of these days to get finger-printed so I can finally receive uppehållstillstandkortet min--my official "residence permit"), and Härnosänd (where my professor lives). I am studying religionsvetenskap ("religious studies/sciences"). It is a net-course so I don't have any commitments in a literal classroom. Instead the classroom is "virtual." In some obvious ways I would like it better in a classroom setting.

BUT...the net-seminar format is the absolute hardest situation I have encountered in terms of communicating in Swedish. It's like talking on the telephone in that you can't see the other person's face and you also don't have time to look up words and carefully consider how you want to say things. But for some reason it's harder than talking on the telephone. Maybe because the topix of conversation are different (i.e. how often do you compare phenomenological perspectives of religion with cultural ones in a normal phone-call?). Because it's the hardest situation I can imagine, it is, I imagine, ergo the best to learn Swedish. "Das dich nicht umbringt macht dich stärker," as they say.

The other compents of the class are also pretty challenging for me just in terms of language proficiency. But I like it. Reading and 'riting. No 'rithmatic, and that wouldn't be fun anyway since math is the "universal language" or whatever. Every week we have a determinate amount of reading to do (half of it is in English, half in Swedish). We also have to write about it with an essay every week.

Because I don't know if my classmates actually exist, I usually hang out with the socionom students--"social work" or something. They're super nice. And I know they're real because I see them. I already got Michiel to ditch the shoes and go au naturel from the ankles down, even though it's six degrees, waining, and wickedly windy.

Den Europeiska Marknaden, Stortorget, Östersund

Here's another post about...markets! They're fun to write about and I figure they're more fun to read about than reading books about religious theorists (this is poorly phrased since many of them are atheists), rollerskiing in the pouring rain, or cleaning toilet-bowls. 

There's a market that travels around Europe like a circus, I guess. In any case, it's in Östersund this week at Stortorget. Here's the good part: they have cheese! 

Wheels of Parmeggiano & Pecorino Romano.

...And olives!

 ...& cheeseandsausage!

One cheese from this stand was aged for five years. That was funny to hear cause that means last time I was in Sweden, they were just putting into its waxy capsule. And now I'm gobbling it up.

 There were also vendors selling some pretty interesting crafts. David, a Pole from London, made effigies out of cast-iron and wine-bottles.

 You can tell vending in Sweden is hard work & sometimes you need a break. It just sucks when a camera-happy tourists decides to take a picture.

Blackberries!

No poetry. Just a picture.

Lördag, Featuring Sauerkraut & Pictures (but no pictures of Sauerkraut)

I dag är det lördag--marknadens dag! It's fun because every week the market looks different. This week there was a concurrent loppis or "garage-sale." I was looking for some shoes, but my luck played out on other fronts rather (i.e. carrots, leeks, cabbage, brocoli & two jars of Jämtland Honung.)

Loppis on the left, Jämtens marknad on the right

Afternoon back at the market. 

I brought back the purchases. Some of it went into the refrigerator, some of it went onto the shelf, and some of it went into a jar to incubate, whence, friendlies permitting, it shall emerge after several weeks as surkål--"sauerkraut."

Later in the afternoon I almost bumped into Östersund's Stadsmuseet so I decided to go inside. I had a fun conversation with the curator. He was a tough guy and he didn't put his ÖP (Östersund's newspaper) down the whole time he was talking to me, even though I could tell he was enjoying himself.

The building itself is super beautiful.

Here are some pictures from inside.

Parlour with an "u."

Yestern I was studying in the library/cafeteria, as is my custom at lunchtime. One time I looked up I saw a cello. The next time I looked up I saw a cello & a viola. The next time I didn't have to look up--det hade blitt en riktig folk-fest right in the middle of the library.

Later, by some stroke of good fortune, I happened upon an announcement of a lecture about Östnordisk och Västnordisk dialecter i gammal tiderna ("East & West Scandinavian Dialects in the Old Times"). Torsdag 8. september, it said on the flyer. "That must be coming up," methought to myself, before realising that it was that night. Luckily the molasses in my brain cunducted this connexion so that I didn't miss it.

I'm very happy I saw the flyer, since it was really interesting for me. They had invited a professor from Lund University. While I was sitting in the room, even though I was totally "engaged," I couldn't help but think "I must be the only person here under forty!" And then I looked around a little more and I realised my first impression had been wrong (as they tend to be)--I was the only person under sixty-five! But that's alright.

Today have we Saturday--Lördag...market day!

I got some super good Swedish-practice a-prating with the local vendors. The best part is, provided I know what I mean to say (which admittedly does not happen as often as I should like), people generally do not think I'm foreign. One lady made a soy-sauce-like condiment out of mushrooms, and another handed me a glass with a smakprov--a "taste-test"--of a drink made from the by-products of her sea-buckthorn-jam-making operation. It tasted exactly like beer, which I wasn't expecting. After talking with the woman of whom I bought the goat cheese (she thought I was from Östersund at first), we made an arrangement: next saturday, before she leaves to the market, she is going to milk her goats and bring one litre with her, the which I pledge to purchase.

Sea-buckthorn berries, unpasteurised cow's milk cheese & butter, unpasteurised goat's milk cheese,  morötter, rodlök, and a pointy permutation of brassicus.

Here's a close-up of the yellowness wrought of lyckliga kor ("happy cows"). The picture doesn't do it justice--it's deeper than the egg-yolks I had this morning. Incidentally, Childe Roland & Co. are still the best egg-factories I have encountered. 

Here is a self-portrait of the rascal who won't leave me in peace.

Nico...bon voyage!

Is it your birthday?

Grattis på födelsedagen

New Blog Post! Featuring Roman Triumvirate & Other Friendlies

We have had Introductionsveckan here at the university. One lady gave a presentation about Östersund, and it sounds really nice--maybe I should visit sometime. One distinction it has is the title of Gastronomical Capitol of the World for 2011; an honour it shares in Roman-like triplicity with two other cities, both of which boast populations of several million. At roughly 60.000, the immutable mathematics of the universe dictate that Östersundarna get more mat (food) per capita. This is happy equation in that the cheese, fil, meat, herring, & root-vegetables are super-tasty, ergo, "the more the merrier." An important component of the "gastronomical" interest is a clear movement for local and sustainable food-production.  This movement might be understood as a tentacle of a broader commitment to energy-efficiency, but I think somehow that the latter is actually more fundamental to the city. In any case, Östersund, again together with two other cities--Trondheim & Sundsvall--created "The Green Highway" for coast-to-coast travel. Nabotaget is a train that connex the coasts, but there is also a green (figuratively) highway (literally) that does the same thing by providing electric-recharge stations for battery cars along the route so the electric-powered pilgrimage need not be impeded by your lack of juice.
Östersund ligger vid Storsjön. The latter is a lake, but it might as well be "the Pond" by the mood of't. Today I wandered down the cobbled streets to the water for some reflexion, since I'm profound and this is what profound people do. Across the water is Fröson, an island.
Another cool thing is the superabundance of bike-paths. It's almost overwhelming. You find, for example, bike-paths ever when you are looking for them.
I have been collecting svampar like a mycological manic. I have to say, it doesn't take much effort here. (Nicco, fjällig bläcksvamp is "wobbley-toppe" rendered in Swedish.) Another project I have been undertaking is picking currants. There aren't very many, but I found a couple patches and I have been harvesting them. They're a little different than American currants in that the stems don't so willingly part with their  rubies, but I have been taking them home togather and then spreading them out on the table to do the operation while I listen to P1 on the radion to try to learn Swedish. Another thing I am doing is collecting fil cultures. My plan is to purchase raw milk from the woman I met at last week's market and inoculate the latter with the sayd friendlies.

Some pictures from down by the water.

...And up at the University, på studentplanen. Mowing the grass...a normal day.