Holidays

Things have been busy here these past few weeks because S's family was visiting. First his brother came with his wife and three-year-old daughter, then his parents arrived a week after the first lot left. This meant seeing some touristy sights that we hadn't gotten around to visiting, namely, the oldey worldey narrow cobblestone streets of Gamla Stan and the amusement park/zoo that is Skansen. Gamla Stan is probably the most picturesque part of Stockholm, given the architecture and the history and the proximity of the water (it's a tiny island), but Skansen has been the most consistently fun. There is something for everyone: rides for kids (including those coin-operated ones that you can stick your toddler on without paying because, really, he doesn't know the difference), an indoor children's zoo for when the weather's bad, another indoor zoo (with separate admission fee--why??), an outdoor zoo of Scandinavian animals (reindeer! bears! wolverines!), a bunch of traditional Swedish buildings and windmills that were brought piece by piece from all over Sweden (some with costumed "traditional women" who talked to you while doing things like knitting and roasting coffee--this kind of thing was more of a hit with the older crowd. I got a kick out of the traditional toys, which included a stick of firewood wearing a dress), and an outdoor marketplace with crafts and food. I think there was actually a lot more that we didn't see, because it's a pretty huge place. We even bought a family pass for one year, so if you come to visit us, it is pretty much guaranteed that we will drag you there.

S's parents were here for Thanksgiving, which they've only ever celebrated with us, and it was a little strange to not see anything Thanksgiving-related in Stockholm. I expected an American-style restaurant might have a special menu, or that someone in the expat group with which I'm loosely affiliated might organize something. It would seem that everyone's too busy getting ready for Christmas. And boy, people get ready early over here. I think I started seeing some decorations before mid-November. Lots of stars and candles (though they're really electric candles) and special Christmas greenery. And weird elves with very long beards. We do not have anything Christmas-related up yet other than some poinsettias on the windowsill. Maybe I should look into an electric Christmas candle thing soon...

A Helping Hand

Ever since we arrived in Stockholm, I've been feeling rather helpless when it comes to the simplest tasks. Both S and I were stumped by our building's elevator on the first day--there were two buttons on our floor, one on top of the other, so we naturally assumed we should press the bottom one to call the elevator to go down to the lobby. Instead, we sent the empty elevator shooting past us from above. In the case of our ancient elevator, the bottom button ("ned") always sends the elevator straight to the lobby, while the top button ("hit") is the "call" button that just brings the elevator to your floor and doesn't care if you want to go up or down. Since then, we've noticed that most old elevators only have a "hit" button to call the elevator, and it's only the modern buildings that have up and down arrows to press at the elevator bank.

I also get tricked by the different credit/debit card machines at the various supermarkets and stores. Sometimes you enter your pin and press OK, and that's it. Other times the cashier has had to say something to me in Swedish, then say "Press it again" in English when it's obvious I haven't understood that I'm supposed to press OK again to accept the total amount I'm being charged. I've gotten slightly better at paying attention to what the screen is saying (meaning, I look out for the letters "OK"), and yet, I feel like a moron every time it catches me out.

I still don't understand how the paper subway ticket works. I'm trying to avoid having to understand this by using a swipey travel card instead.

All of this is to say that, after feeling like a lost child for the past several weeks, it was refreshing to actually help someone else out for a change. I've become friendly with our upstairs neighbor, a kindergarten teacher originally from Chile who moved to Stockholm to settle down with her Swedish fiance. She's been here for over five years and is basically fluent in Swedish now but, given that my Swedish is non-existent, I've been practicing my Spanish with her. I'm taking advantage of the fact that she is currently on maternity leave with her 6-month-old son and is available during the day to just hang out. O and I went up to her place for a chat a week ago, which was a little eerie because their unit is identical to ours apart from a covered over doorway and a huge opening where there used to be a wall (you know, kind of like that Fawlty Towers episode, except nothing threatens to fall down).

Yesterday she and her son came down to our place and I got to show her the toys that O had as a baby (a lot of which he still likes). This was how I was able to be helpful. During our previous chat, my neighbor had mentioned not knowing what toys to buy, and I offered to show her what O had. She really liked a few things and was able to take pictures on her phone to see whether she could find identical things here in Stockholm. I definitely do not want to be that mom handing out unsolicited advice, but it's kind of nice to know that I could be helpful with my own experiences as a parent if she needs help. That is, if I remember what life with O was like 20 months ago...

When in Rome

The other day it was raining, relatively lightly, though still heavily enough that I would never have taken O out to play had we been in Washington. But given that we were in Sweden, I felt compelled to do what the Swedes do. You know, "There's no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing." And we had, after all, invested a decent amount of money in a rain jacket, rain pants (with attached fleecy bib) and boots. The only problem is that my son hates having anything on his head. It was a real struggle getting the rain hood on, and that seemed to spoil his mood completely. Whereas he'd normally be content to walk from our building to the little playground that's literally five minutes away, this time he insisted that I carry him. In the rain. At the playground, he kept fighting with his hood. It didn't matter that I pointed out how literally every single child but him had his or her head protected from the rain, so they wouldn't get wet and cold and sick. We probably stayed for fifteen or twenty minutes, neither of us especially thrilled though he did seem to enjoy playing with some of the cars and trucks. But you know, we have cars and trucks at home, where it's dry. And we also have books, which I think he might even love more than playing outside. So while I know the Swedes take their kids outside every day, no matter the weather, we might be content to make that decision on a case-by-case basis, probably winding up somewhere between our old habit of making a run for cover at the first drop of rain to the Swedish way of splashing around in 40F weather.