End of Hibernation

The sun was shining this afternoon and the weatherman has promised us sunshine for the next few days. So this, my third attempt at crawling out of my annual hibernation, should have a fair measure of success. My second attempt 10 days ago was foiled by 2 days of heavy snowfall but I won't let that deter me.

I'll soon be searching for the first spring flowers in the garden and until they appear I'll have to make do with these daffodils which I found in my local supermarket.

It's unbelievable what a little sunshine can do to your psyche. Glory be! The best is yet to come!

The Cashew Nut Issue

I was wondering the other day what joy the media are going to kill as we approach a season of good tidings (perhaps not this year or next) and good cheer in the company of family and friends. Sure enough, I wasn’t disappointed. A journalist from one of the leading papers had paid a visit to a cashew nut processing plant in India and was appalled by the plight of workers there.

She wrote that the cashew nut shellers (mostly Indian women) work under very primitive conditions for a very meagre wage of 1 krona (15 US cents) a kilo while the nuts cost 300kr (US$40) a kilo when they reach the supermarket shelf ready roasted and nicely packed, no mention made of who pockets what along the distribution chain from tree to shelf.

As people become more health conscious and health gurus propagate a Mediterranean diet with fruit and nuts aplenty, the sale of nuts has increased a few thousand-fold over the past few years with the cashew becoming the most popular nut sold these days. And what, you may ask, is the purpose of that article? To test our conscience, perhaps, as we dash around hunting Christmas gifts and stocking up for the Christmas dinner?

The boycotters will soon be out in full force demanding that shops stop importing the cashew and perhaps even smashing shops that sell them. Perhaps they can also explain to me how that will help the half million or so Indian women whose livelihood at present depends on shelling these nuts.

On Christmas Eve, as we chew our Christmas ham, smoked eel, meatballs and sausages, I wonder how many of us will still remember that article and consider how we can eat our favourite nuts with a clear conscience, knowing what we now know. And in between our burps, we may also consider how we can eat home-grown berries with a good conscience as well. After all, they are picked by workers who come all the way from countries as far afield as Thailand to work under very non-Swedish conditions for a very non-Swedish wage.

For a country that has progressed from an age with child labour fifty years ago to an age when even dogs have their own psychiatrists, perhaps there is a need for its inhabitants to be reminded once in a while that they are not that badly off after all. And the media will soon oblige again when they pick on another group of workers in another industry for them to pity and lament over.

Remember, Remember, the 10th of December

December is not everyone’s favourite time of the year with its long dark nights and short grey days, but no one can deny that the 10th of December, Nobel Day, is anything but a day of brains, beauty and glamour (not necessarily in that order).

Come early December and the Nobel Laureates of the year will descend upon the Swedish capital to deliver a series of lectures and receive their awards from the King.

The Award ceremony, held each year at the Concert Hall in Stockholm, is a formal and solemn event that preceeds a glittering Dinner and Ball at the Town Hall where the Laureates and their families together with over a thousand invited dignitaries from academia, government and business, are treated to a menu so secret it is only revealed when served.

True to tradition, us mortals who are unlikely to get an invitation ever, found ourselves hurrying home the other day to share the joy and bask in the glory of the occasion in front of the TV-set.

Balancing a tray of sandwiches on our knees, we watched as they wined and dined, and while we feasted our eyes on the gorgeous attires and adornments worn by the royals and other celebs, we forgot for a few hours the harsh realities of life relentlessly delivered to us each day by the merciless media.

And when the ball is over … well, it will soon be Christmas. So, perhaps, December is not so bad after all despite its shades of grey.

Buy Swedish, Save Jobs

In these hard times people tend to look inwards and our Prime Minister is no exception. He has appealed to the inhabitants of his land to BUY SWEDISH this Christmas and save jobs.

I took out my shopping list to find to my horror that 80% of the Christmas gifts I plan to buy are definitely not local and the rest contain parts that are just as foreign.

After chewing on my dilemma for half a day I finally gave up. Local textile industries are long gone so I have no choice but to buy foreign where clothing items are concerned. The French wines on my list have no local ditto, so they will remain on the list. The CDs and DVDs (by special request) are certainly not local, but they will remain too. The gift vouchers let me off the hook (the recipients will have to grapple with their own sense of patriotism).

Troubled by my disability to help the Swedish economy, I took some comfort in the replies from some interviewees on the street.

A guy said, “Not this year, we’re spending our Christmas holidays in Vietnam.”
A young lad said, “I’m a poor student so I can only buy what I can afford.”
A lady said, “I’m making all the presents myself so they will be Swedish by my defintion.”

I hope the Prime Minister will have better luck in heeding his own call.

Anyway, I'm not going to lose any sleep for I would like to believe that in my own way, I am helping the Swedish economy by enabling some of the inhabitants of India, China, Mexico, France and elsewhere to afford Volvo cars, Electrolux refrigerators, Husqvarna sewing machines … well, perhaps not as Christmas gifts.

An EU-cucumber

While slicing a cucumber for my lunch salad yesterday I couldn’t help but reflect upon the corny marketing standards imposed by the EU on fruit and vegetables.

An EU-cucumber should be medium length and not too curved, and an EU-carrot should be straight and not too knobbly.

Just imagine the wastage when farmers have to throw away all the vegetables that do not fit the norm ... a mortal sin in these days of food crisis and economic gloom.

Fortunately the EU-politicians have come to their senses and I am looking forward to seeing some less-than-perfect vegetables in my supermarket next summer when these balmy standards will be abolished.

Ah well, it’s a far-from-perfect world and I guess far-from-perfect politicians need to provide some entertainment value to justify their existence.

Tongue Twisters

The inability of some nationalities to utter certain sounds inherent in languages other than their own has often provided cause for hilarity. Like a Thai pilot saying ‘This is flight xxx calling Kalachi …’ when preparing for landing in the Pakistani city, or a Japanese pilot saying ‘This is fright xxx calling Rondon …’ before landing at Heathrow.

So tourists and newcomers to this Land of Vikings, be prepared for your moments of amusement and puzzlement!

Do not say no to a yin and tonic or a glass of orange yuice … or a fried egg sunny side up with the jolk all runny and jellow ... they’re all quite drinkable and edible, you know.

And all you Yapanese tourists, hang on to your jens … there’s plenty to buy, but watch out for the yunk.

Yokes aside, enyoy your stay!

And greetings from my pet cricket, Yumping Yiminy, as well.

Bad Times and Cat Food

Perhaps all is not quite gloom and doom. With economies tumbling all over the world, you would expect to see a different emphasis on food ads. But lo and behold, what did I see in the dailies the other day but a big ad about lobsters being the week’s key offering from an average supermarket in an average middle-income suburb. Comfort food?

Just goes to show, people are not tightening their belts where their culinary preferences are concerned. Perhaps that kitchen renovation has been put on hold, or that planned Christmas trip to Aruba is off the agenda ... but to live on a diet to match the economy … oh no!

Restaurant owners must be wondering ‘Will these bad times take their toll on the julbord (traditional Swedish Christmas smorgasbord, generally a seasonal treat from employer to employee)’. Judging by all the restaurant ads, the prices are still as exorbitant as in all previous years, so my guess is business will still be good.

Even our pets are not tightening their belts yet. A recent survey by a TV-program designed to draw attention to the quality of school lunches, discovered that cat food contains more nourishment than the average school lunch served to our kids. So now I know why the neighbours’ cat always has a smile on its chubby face and why little Tommy down the lane always has a lean and hungry look on his.

ALGORISM - The New Religion

You cannot open a newspaper these days without reading about the impending environmental disaster that is lurking round the corner waiting to descend upon us with gargantuan force if we do not immediately stop driving cars, vacationing overseas, drinking mineral water, soaking ourselves in the bathtub, and so on and so forth.

Supermarkets are competing with each other on the number of organic food items they are stocking … organic cucumbers from Spain, organic beef from Argentina, organic grapes from South Africa, organic bananas from Colombia, organic eggs from wherever … etc etc.

And so, befitting the spirit of the day, I found people at a potluck dinner I attended last evening, fervently outdoing each other with tales of their efforts to cure all the environmental ills that the developed and developing nations are causing to our entire world, threatening our very existence.

“I can’t do without my car,” said one, “but I make up for it by eating organic.”

"I eat less beef and more lentils these days," said another. "Cows fart and pollute the air," she claimed. I just hope the lentils don't make her pollute the air as much as the cows.

Then there was this particular lady (let’s call her M) who dominated the scene with her stentorian voice and a contour to match. M made some remarks about tiger prawns (my politically incorrect contribution to the potluck, I must admit) being a source of some of the environmental ills that have befallen us. “You know, they clear environment-friendly mangrove swamps to farm these prawns. And then they use child labour to work these farms. I don’t eat tiger prawns any more,” she sniffed.

“I do,” I said guilelessly. “But not everyday. I believe, by so doing, that I am contributing to the livelihood of a few million people. And besides, mangrove swamps breed mosquitoes which any school kid will tell you are carriers of agents that cause deadly diseases in human beings.”

At that, M switched attention to her Christmas plans. “We are going to Thailand. We have just bought a beach bungalow there and that's where we will spend all our future summer vacations, Christmases and Easters.”

Then she went on to extoll the virtues of vacationing in Thailand. “The people there are soooo friendly. They will do anything for you, always with a smile, for a few bahts ... really good value for money. And I love the seafood ... soooo good and fresh and soooo cheap. The prawns are like lobsters and the crabs melt in your mouth. And it’s lovely to see children helping their parents run their food stalls, unlike children here who booze themselves unconscious and hurl stones at the police to prove their worth.”

I quietly wondered which ex-mangrove swamp her cheap lobster-like prawns came from, why it was so delightful to be served by child labour over there, why it was OK with her three carbon-emitting trips a year to that beach bungalow in the land of smiling people and why it was such a sin for her to eat tiger prawns here.

But that didn't stop me from enjoying my meal tremendously, without a shred of bad conscience. For surely, all that organic food supplied by the ardent followers of ALGORism must have compensated for my sinfully delectable tiger prawns, evidenced by the only empty plate licked spotlessly clean at the end of the party.

And as I left for home, I couldn't help but wonder how many of those devoted ALGORists would turn up to clap their hands and be mesmerised by their Messiah when he drops in for a visit to the beautiful City of Stockholm later this week.

Hallelujah!

Hooray! It’s Cinnamon Bun Day!

Today, for the 10th year in succession, Swedes celebrate Cinnamon Bun Day. It all started in 1999 when the Home Baking Association decided to commemorate its 40th anniversary with something close to the heart and hearth of every Swedish home, and thus Cinnamon Bun Day was born.

Fika (pronounced feeka) is a local tradition that goes back a long way. As a noun it means a coffee break and as a verb it implies drinking coffee (often accompanied by buns, cakes or cookies), in the company of friends, relatives or colleagues.

In offices it is not uncommon for colleagues to have a morning fika at 9 am, another fika to round off a lunch and yet another at 2:30 pm. I knew it, you’re wondering when they'll have time to do any work … but that’s another story.

Cafés used to be places where old ladies met up with other old ladies for a bit of chin-wagging. But nowadays they are places where young ladies and even young men meet their friends for a fika after a shopping session or before the movies.

And so, what better way to celebrate this day than fika with a kanelbulle or two ... which I'm quite sure is exactly what's been done in cottages and castles, in towns and villages, the length and breadth of this country today.

Cobblestones and Misguided Souls

The word cobblestone often brings to mind a picture of knights in shining armour, castles, moats and lovely damsels in distress. This shimmer of romance was clouded a few days ago by an incident in the Scanian City of Malmoe.

A group of ‘Reclaim the Streets’ demonstrators went amok in the city centre. The police were called in but were ordered by their chiefs not to act even when they saw the mob prising cobblestones off the streets and hurling them at shop windows … the reason being we should accept some broken windows as opposed to further potential damage should the police do what they were sent there to do.

In the midst of all this chaos the police were also ordered to remove their helmets so they could look the mob in the eye and have a heart-to-heart chat with those poor misguided souls.

As a law-abiding and tax-paying inhabitant of this otherwise delightful Land of Pippi Longstocking, I am speechless.

New Money, Old Game

For tax-weary inhabitants of this country, a tax break would be more than welcome. But, believe it or not, there is one group of workers who have insisted on being given the privilege of paying tax. They work their butts off but are not eligible for sick pay. "Enough is enough," they said. "Now we want to be treated like everyone else."

"That shouldn't be a problem," said a spokesperson for the Income Tax Department. "All they have to do is provide receipts to their clients whose names may be omitted if so desired."

So bang away, hookers. Join the crowd and fill the state coffers.

What's in a Name?

A friend of mine called Eric Johansson is considering changing his surname to something like Vallmoblad (Poppyleaf) which he knows will be quite unique, unlike Johansson which is the most common surname in Sweden. When asked for the reason he jokingly replied that he was tired of being told “Sorry, we’re full” whenever he calls to book a table at an exclusive restaurant.

Jokes aside, it is not an uncommon practice for Swedes with surnames ending in –son (like Persson or Karlsson) to change to something less common. Perhaps it is a sign that social homogenisation has reached a stage where people want to stand out and be noticed.

There is also a tendency these days for parents to give their children uncommon first names like Metallica (a hard rock band). But they have to contend with the Registrar of Names who have a tendency to reject names which in their opinion may cause future problems for the poor kids. Like the couple who wanted to call their son Grus (Gravel) but was stopped by the Registrar who suggested that they call him Sten (Stone) instead, a common boy’s name in days of yore.

Then there is the sad story of a Russian immigrant, a lady called Svetlana Diatchkova. She is a graduate teacher with 18 years of teaching experience in her home country. She has applied for more than 400 jobs here over the past 18 months but has never been called up for an interview. Her friends have suggested that she change her name to something more local. Perhaps as Svea Danielsson she might have better luck.

So what’s in a name? Apparently, somewhat more than you're inclined to think.

Bugs Galore

Cimex lectularius, more commonly known as the bedbug, is back with a vengeance. According to a local pest-control company there are now more than 2000 cases of reported infestations a year while ten years ago there were none.

Why this sudden resurgence? Are Swedes becoming less hygienic? Experts blame it on the increasing international travel to quaint exotic places which were once out of reach to the ordinary tourist and pocket. It’s never our fault, is it? If it’s any comfort, the C. lectularius is on the increase in other first-world countries as well.

But these are not the only bugs around. At this time of year when schools reopen after the summer holidays, parents are urged by their children’s schools and child-care centres to inspect their offsprings’ heads for lice and nits. Lack of hygiene? Oh no! It’s international travel again.

Perhaps the government should declare a stay-at-home year to see if it helps. Perhaps we should forbid our friends from quaint exotic countries to visit us as well. But that would put pest-control companies out of business. But then again, perhaps they are the ones planting the bugs ... to stay in business.

Anyhow, we’ve got to do something if we don’t want these little creepy-crawlies walking all over us while we sleep, imbibing our blood and laying eggs in our crowning glory.

I know ... be an armchair tourist ... that should keep the environmentalists happy too.

The Gay and the Gray

There's nothing that makes bigger headlines than the goings-on of the LGBT (lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender) community. The recent 10-day long Europride festival proudly hosted by Stockholm was one of those happenings that filled news columns for weeks.

The event rounded off with a colourful parade that wound its way through central Stockholm, watched by 45000 people inspite of the lousy weather. Walking alongside the LGBT participants in the parade were government ministers and members of parliament, all jostling to position themselves as champions of LGBT rights.

An unfortunate incident occurred during the festival -- 2 gays were attacked and robbed. The police chief issued an immediate statement condemning the deed and saying that all resources would be expended to apprehend the culprits.

That reminded me of another incident that occurred half a year ago. The 80-year old aunt of a friend of mine was robbed in her own home. A young lady had rung on her doorbell asking for a glass of water. While she took the girl to the kitchen a young man sneaked in, tied her up and made off with her cash and jewellery. When her son reported the incident to the police he was told that the chances of catching the culprits were minimal. "We just don't have the resources," the policeman said.

So the moral of the story is ... rather be gay than gray?

A Goosey Tale

You never know whom or what you will bump into when you are out for a ride in the Province of Scania in the southernmost part of the Kingdom of Sweden.

On one particularly sunny morning during our Scanian vacation, we had to put on the brakes to give Mother Goose-and-family-and-friends time to saunter leisurely across the road.

Hubby, being Scanian by birth, smacked his lips, as roast goose and black soup (with goose blood as the main ingredient), a Scanian speciality, tickled his imagination and palate.

Whilst I, not being Scanian whichever way you look at it, just shuddered at the memory of a bygone day when a little girl of five (yours truly) was chased down the lane by a honking oversized goose.

If you are one of those people who love to eat goose for whatever reason (Scanian or otherwise), it might be worth your while to make your way to the charming sleepy village of Skanör at the southwestern tip of Scania.

There you will find Skanörs Gästgifvaregård, a well-known restaurant famous for its Martinmas goose dinners.

Just outside the restaurant you will also find the one and only goose crossing in the whole wide world.

See you there, perhaps?

Honk! Honk!

Psst ... There's Money for the Asking

Ever wondered how you can make a quick buck?

According to one of the local dailies, you can apply for asylum in this country if you come from one of the war-torn places like Iraq, Afghanistan or Somalia. This will entitle you to a stay until your application is processed. But if you are smart you will withdraw your application after a couple of weeks and submit a new, this time for a grant to help you return to your home country.

You will get something like US$3000 if you are single and up to US$8000 if you are a family and you are most likely to get a payout before you can say Holy Moose!

Word has spread and a number of young Iraqi men have turned up here right out of the blue on the pretext of applying for asylum and then getting away with a bag of money.

So now I know where some of the taxes we pay end up.

The Germans are right again. Stupid Swedes, as they often call the natives of this country.

Culinary Sensations

My taste buds are still recovering after a weekend of culinary sensations.

The Indian dinner party was a resounding success. The dishes left my taste buds tingling but I must confess the masala tea was a little way out. I like my tea to taste like tea, pure and simple. The masala tea had cardemom pods, cinnamon sticks, fennel seeds, black pepparcorns, ginger, etc etc in it. Perhaps I'll like it better the next time around ... never know.

I never used to like crayfish either. But now it's a must-have. Boiled in a dill-flavoured saline solution they taste simply heavenly. August is crayfish party time. It was once forbidden to catch or sell these ugly creatures before the 7th of August to prevent their depletion but that ban has been lifted now and crayfish is available the whole year round.

Tradition being tradition, we still eat them only in August. We used to buy them frozen, Turkish, Spanish, American, Chinese ones -- we've tried them all. But nothing beats the fresh homegrown ones that live in the pure waters of Swedish lakes.

Sometimes I wonder if it's the crayfish itself, the company or the booze that makes crayfish eating so yummy. Swedes like to sing crayfish ditties at these dos. They put on silly hats and bibs and forget their normal serious selves and when all is eaten and drunk they stumble home baying happily at the moon.

Celebrations

Jai Hind to all my Indian friends on the occasion of their independence day.

One Indian friend, Susheela, is having a potluck bash tomorrow, ladies only. My contribution will be Kulfi, a cardemom-flavoured ice cream with chopped pistachio nuts. I hope somebody will bring a chicken bryani ... yummy ... my favourite Indian dish.

We do not have an independence day in Sweden thanks to the fearsome vikings who kept would-be occupiers at bay. But we do celebrate national day on the 6th of June, perhaps not quite on the same scale as the French and Norwegians celebrate theirs. Swedes like to be lagom, an approximate translation of which is 'not too much, not too little'.

It's ABBA fever all over again in ABBA country with the Mamma Mia movie showing to full houses alongside a stage version by a visiting ensemble. I finally went to see the movie tonight after being asked for the 99th time 'have you seen it yet?'. And I must say I enjoyed it tremendously. Meryl Streep as mamma Donna was simply marvelous so all you 50+ ladies out there, take heart. And I'm sure Pierce Brosnan had worked hard at getting rid of his 007 pose -- he almost succeeded.

If it's showing in your hometown, go ahead and see it and if you are an ABBA fan you might want to be present at the gala opening of the ABBA Museum in Stockholm on June 3-7 2009.

It's that time of year again

... when we tighten our belts and live on bread and blood pudding. The roads are jammed again as people return to work after yet another summer vacation, that is if they have a job to return to. The road toll of 10kr (US$1.50) to enter central Stockholm has resumed so parking is no longer a problem. Most people can live with that but we have to pay another 10kr to exit the city centre, which I think is plain robbery. Children run wild as schools are still closed for another two weeks. Wallets are empty and tempers short. That, in a nutshell, is what post-vacation August is all about.

New for this year is the almost daily dismal news predicting the imminent fall of the housing market. Will it get as bad as the US one? But that's bad news only if you are a seller. The Central Bank is expected to raise interest rates again to combat rising inflation, or so they claim. Frankly speaking, I don't quite follow that trend of reasoning as surely, any increase in rates would just increase the cost of living, thus contributing to the very inflation which they are so eager to fight.

Oh well, life is too short to bury ourselves in all that pessimism. I, for one, am looking forward to a crayfish party this weekend. I still have the vacation pictures to transfer to my computer so that will keep me out of mischief for a while. And of course, the Olympics are still on for another ten days, so that will keep hubby out of mischief too.

So as my tan fades, I can't help but smile at the memory of this dear creature dreaming away the hazy lazy days of summer.