Nu har det blivit sex veckor sedan jag kom hit. Thursday was the six-week anniversary of my arrival here in Östersund. Elsewhere are recounted the details of that peculiar experience, and perhaps one of my two readers realises that Thursday ought to have been no anniversary at all. In any case, here is my profound statement for the occasion:
"It's weird cause it seems like long and shorter. At the same time."
One thing that I have been surprised about is how many people from different parts of the world live in Östersund. "The middle of Northern Sweden," I thought, "nobody but old Swedes and reindeer." But, as is quite often the case, I was completely wrong. I have met people from every continent except North America and Antartica. Actually today I met someone from one of these continents. A lot of people are actually political refugees. The other day I had a conversation with a man who left Chile in 1987 because of Pinochet. He said that he has been back home several times, but he feels like an outsider there. Östersund is his home. Hiva from Iran is studying in the Social Work course at the university. It was funny cause when I first met him, we modestly criticised America just for a conversation topic (at least I think that's what we were doing--I honestly can hardly understand what he is saying). Then I had to tell him where I was from. When I said Alaska, he thought about it for a second and then the first thing he said was "Jack London...
The Call of the Wild." According to Hiva, that book is world famous. Reading that book as a kid, I might have suspected that another kid was reading the same story in Iran translated into Persian. But it would have seemed crazy. And it still does, honestly.
Another thing I love about Sweden is that all the bikes are
gammaldags--"olde-fashioned." They have back-pedal breaks and mechanical spin-lights.
The newspaper and radio are really high-quality. The radio maybe isn't such a surprise but Östersund produces two newspapers, both whereof would eat the
ADN for
frokost and have a cinnamon-roll and a plate of pickled-herring on top of it. Here's a paragraph connexion: one daily broadcast on the radio is a listener call-in program, and I think about every third listener is an immigrant to Sweden.
One thing I don't like is the Swedish city-boy habit of breaking your beer-bottle on the sidewalk to show that you've finished sucking out the juices. Maybe I just don't understand the foreign culture all the way.