together we become a big porridge that's warm, tasty, and nutritious and yes, quite beautiful, too

 

 

“Read,” the boy said.

“O.K.,” I said, “but I don’t read Swedish.  A boy is walking through a forest.  It’s so beautiful – it’s in Sweden, not the kind we’re in now.

“That’s right,” his mother said, laughing.  “In Sweden the forests are so beautiful.  They’re not just woods.”

“For some reason the boy is sitting on a tree stump crying as he talks to a tiny elf,” I said.

“Why is he crying?” the boy asked.

“I don’t know, because I can’t understand any of the words.”

“What’s that?” the boy asked.

“The ears are too long for a squirrel.  What is this animal?” I asked his mother.

“It’s – how do you say? – it’s – you know – a squirrel.  But it’s the kind we have only in Sweden – this beautiful, light-brown – like a deer – not gray like here.  They’re so cute, with these big ears.  I think it’s a squirrel – no – yes, a squirrel.”

For a minute I thought she was going to come up with another kind of animal, but this was just as good – a better kind of squirrel.

- from "That's No Fun" by Julie Hecht

Our room in a new hotel was paid for by a Swede of Trinidadian descent. 

(I've learned that it's best not to ask too many questions about the business dealings of the Israelis, so I can provide no further explanation.)

The furnishings were contemporary.

 

And surprisingly comfortable.  I was never cold, even though it was frigid outside and we sometimes left the window open.  And there was only one comforter to sleep under, like in the bedrooms of the German-speaking world.

The people working in the hotel were extremely pleasant and friendly, even though the place was stuffed with stylish young Europeans and Scandinavians, (like in Britain, sometimes Swedes refer to "Europe" as if it is another place) who I imagine must have been somewhat demanding.

The breakfast buffet was often very chaotic, usually because we arrived right before it closed, and people were running around hoarding whatever they could get hold of.

 

I saw a strapping young man put five rolls on his plate, since they were dismantling the buffet and he didn't know what else he would be able to get.  Despite the delicious breakfast options (there was an entire section for herring, and another for different flavors of yogurt), my bowels only moved about once every 72 hours during the trip. 

There were candles at every meal, however.  The Swedes know how to make things cozy.  I remembered that the concept of coziness was also very important in Denmark, despite their disgusting language.  The word for cozy in Danish is hyggelig.  Weirdly, their word for "scary" is uhyggelig, which just means "un-cozy".

The Swedes that we met were generally very, very nice.  I had expected them to be pompous and awful, like Germans.

They do have a bit of a passive-aggressive streak.  In the royal palace, some Americans were taking photos, despite a clearly marked prohibition.  The guard walked over to them and said, "I see that you have failed to notice the many signs we have all throughout the palace informing you that you cannot take pictures."  I can't imagine a museum guard saying that in New York.

They are proud of their wonderful country and just society, but they have to be modest, since it is part of the Scandinavian culture to be modest. 

We had a tour of the Stockholm city hall, constructed in the National Romantic style.

 

There were too many people for the English tour, so we were split into two groups.  One of the guides was Asian, and I noticed that people tried to avoid being in her group.

 

She was a very charming tour guide, however, and she modestly noted that same-sex couples could be married in the city hall.  "That's two men, or two women," she clarified, for the French and Italians, who may not have understood clearly how progressive Sweden is.  She asked our group questions throughout the tour, but Asaph answered all of them correctly, not allowing anyone else a chance. (Our guide: "The tower in the Copenhagen city hall is 105 meters high.  How high do you think the tower is here in Stockholm's city hall?" Asaph: "106 meters." Guide: "Right again!")

 

We saw where the Nobel Prize banquets are held.  I thought of Paul Krugman, although our guide said that the prize in economics was somewhat different from the other Nobel prizes, as it was not established by Nobel himself.  This made me think somewhat less of Paul Krugman.

I was impressed by a group of National Romantic urinals.

 

We attended a gathering held by a Swede of Egyptian origin whom Asaph and I met at a Halloween party in Harlem.  His apartment was extremely cute and cozy, with rough wood floors, dormer windows, Buddhist statues, and candles everywhere.  He had prepared a spread of salmon, shrimp, and herring sandwiches, none of which Asaph would eat.  Two of his friends invited us to a New Year's Eve party in their penthouse apartment.  They were a married non-heterosexual couple in their mid-30's.  One was Swedish and kept saying "darling" all of the time; the other was Dutch and had a gravely smoker's voice to compliment his guttural Dutch accent.  The party would have a theme: either black tie, black leather, or black gym clothes.  The only thing I had was black gym clothes, but that would mean that I would have to expose my three crowns tattoo to Swedes in Sweden, an event I had often had nightmares about.  But there was no choice.

Also (and we would later learn that this was common), we had to pay them €100 or SEK 1000.  This seemed reasonable to me: we were getting dinner and all the drinks we wanted.  Still, I thought that no one in New York would do that, at least no one with a penthouse apartment, since people in New York are terrified of appearing poor.  But that's why we are now in a New Great Depression.

We were told the party started at seven in the evening and went until morning.  Asaph didn't want to spend that much time there, so we sat around in the hotel room for a while.  I watched Wallace and Gromit in a new short film called A Matter of Loaf and Death.  Sadly, it was dubbed into Norwegian.

When we arrived at the party at around ten, we were greeted with, "Darlings!  You're three hours late!"  Everyone else had already eaten dinner, and people were dancing and drinking and some were even smoking, despite Sweden's reputation for good health.  Some were in tuxedos and even more were in black leather, often very little of it.  I took off my jacket and braced myself for questions about my tattoo.  There were few, however.

The place was amazing.  The room where we just threw our coats was bigger than my entire apartment.  There were multiple bathrooms, a living room, a dining room, a large terrace overlooking the city, and a large kitchen, where I gorged on leftover salmon, chicken and beef after drinking three glasses of boxed wine.

There was an adorable DJ with a bandage on his face.  I hoped it was covering a pimple, or a skin cancer scar, and was not some sort of attempt at fashion.

 

I saw one of the palest persons I have ever seen in my life.

 

He was beautiful, like a vampire.

There were some famous drag queens there, but they were famous for Sweden, so I had no idea who they were.  At midnight, people went out on the terrace to watch fireworks and to drink pink champagne, which seemed to me to be a bit of an unseemly touch.

 

Coming back inside, I warmed my hands on the bare abdomen of a Nigerian guy now living in Chicago.  He said he had lived in Sierra Leone at one point.  I thought that living in the poorest country in the world might be a bit of a challenge for me.  I tried not to bring down the mood of the party by asking about all of the suffering and child soldiers and hacked off arms and such.

It was a lovely party.

Two days later we were invited to have dinner at Francis Strand's place.  The building had an old-fashioned elevator, with seats.

 

Francis's apartment was even more impressive than the others we had seen.  There were countless giant rooms with soaring ceilings.  The place was furnished in a style I would call perfect. 

It was so big that I felt I might be afraid to spend the night there alone.  I asked Francis's man if he was ever scared to sleep there when Francis was away.  I asked if they had a panic room.

If I had a panic room, I would be in it all of the time.

Francis had invited many interesting guests, including noted children's book author Linas Alsenas, and others.  We ate, drank, and had heated discussions until late into the night.  I bored everyone with my ramblings about how I think the New Non-Heterosexual Atheists are on the wrong track.  We talked about the differences between Swedish and American society.  An American complained that social interactions are rare in Sweden, since systems are so well designed that there is never really a need to talk with anyone else (an example: you usually take a number to check out at a store, so there is never any question of who is next, and you don't even wait in a line with other people).

We were asked how we managed to get invited to an A-List non-heterosexual New Year's Eve party, and we realized that it was because we were unknown in Stockholm, so our non-heterosexual caste was unable to be properly identified.  Despite being an egalitarian society, they apparently have lettered non-heterosexual lists in Sweden.

This dinner was the highlight of the trip.  I never get invited to dinner parties where people talk about interesting subjects late into the night, although I wonder if such dinner parties even occur in New York.  Maybe Woody Allen has them.  No one has a big enough apartment, or, if they do, they don't usually have anything to talk about, except for the soul-deadening activities that they engage in to be able to afford their large apartments, or other things they have purchased.

As we left, I told Asaph I wanted to move to Sweden.  He said it was too cold.

Comments

[daninokc]

your travel pics here are awesome!!! thanks , great posts.
later

[Bob]

You do seem so much better suited to Europe than America, darling. It seems you keep trying to make America work, but in the end, Europe may be where you need to end up.

You can tell Asaph that Stockholm's average winter weather really isn't too terribly different from New York's. I'd embed the weather.com proof of that here, but your site doesn't allow HTML, and ungainly links are so unsightly.

Basically, average high/low in January in Stockholm: 30/23F. In New York: 38/26. Sure, Stockholm's winters are longer, but that's when you take cheap flights to Spain and Italy and Greece, as opposed to a New Yorker's tacky quickish getaway options like Florida and Southern California

[homer]

I have interesting dinner parties in Tucson, often with a crafting element. It is much warmer here than in Sweden.

[The Gay Recluse]

I'm pretty sure dinner parties don't exist anymore in New York, although I read about one recently on a blog or maybe Twitter (and felt kind of terrified, because they always struck me as very str8/adult in ways I'm probably still trying to avoid). But somehow to hear about the one chez Francis Strand made me feel less fearful in the way I always feel better doing something in Europe that would make me feel self-conscious in New York, e.g., my hotel elevator in Vienna also had seats and we all took turns sitting in them (and taking videos/photos).

[jason]

The pic of you and Asaph in the elevator is especially great; the lighting was good and you both have good, defined shadows on your faces. It's actually so cinematic and unusual of you two's expressions set in a strange interior space that would be a nice panic room.

[Francis S.]

Flattery will get you everywhere, Eric. It was great fun having you guys over...

[Rick]

So NOW I understand the gym clothes in the pic.