The final fika

It's been roughly a year since my last post. Perhaps you feared that I had been abducted by extra-terrestrials. It's also possible you were certain I had gone into hiding on an island off the coast of Stockholm refusing to ever leave Sweden. There's a big chance as well that you didn't really think anything about it and just spent your time on the internet scrolling through a vast sea of footage featuring fluffy animals doing hilarious things that often, but not necessarily, involve a robot vacuum. Either way, I still feel that I owe you (and myself) the story of my last days in Stockholm. It just took me a long (long, long, long) time to process it all and thus be capable of writing about it somewhat coherently.

Those last days were filled to the brim. There were a lot of "one last times" - one last fika, one last kardemumbulle, one last stroll through my favourite park, one last trip to that cute store with the equally cute shop assistant, one last nyponsoppa... There were also plenty of "I can't believe I still haven't dones" - visiting Stadshuset, Skovskyrkogården and even more museums, sampling more so far undiscovered pastries, having Swedish Easter (with branches decorated with coloured feathers and children dressed as even more colourful witches), eating a Swedish waffle, eating a what-the-Swedes-call-Belgian waffle... And, on top of all that, the inevitable freight train of ongoing thoughts, emotions and goodbyes had set itself in motion. 

Many companies in Sweden, including Bonniers Konsthall, are closed on Maundy Thursday and Good Friday. So the Wednesday before that long weekend everyone gathered for a special fika in my honour. I was prepared to thank all my temporary colleagues for this incredible opportunity. I also knew in advance I was going to get a little surprise or gift. (I am sorry, Jåanna, Sara, Rebecka and Narek - suspicious meetings and hushed murmuring until one of you yells out "SHE UNDERSTANDS TOO MUCH SWEDISH. LET'S GO SOMEWHERE ELSE!" followed by all of you simultaneously going to the kitchen nowhere near lunchtime is not really a prime ninja strategy.) What I did not expect, was that I would be the one getting thanked for my time at Bonniers Konsthall. I was showered with uplifting and heart-warming compliments, both about my work and me as a person. I am not used to getting this kind of praise. The combination of Katya's wonderful little speech, everyone's kind words, the great gifts and the free cake made me feel like I was receiving a lifetime achievement award. It rendered me speechless. 

At first I was afraid I would cry all throughout fika. There were indeed some tiny sobby moments, but overall I was just so happy and grateful to have one last fika with all these wonderful people. So I enjoyed every moment of it and I was able to go pack up with my mascara still intact. A few hours later, after finishing off the last tasks and clearing my desk, I closed the office door behind me and went up the bright red spiral staircase one last time. I stepped outside, into a warm ochre spring sunset. That's when the tears came. That was it. It was really over. Up until that moment, for almost a year, my Swedish internship had been the centre of my life: the application, the paperwork (so much paperwork), finding a place to do my internship, finding a place to live, planning, reading up, preparing, skype meetings, buying warm socks, shopping, packing… and then of course actually leaving for Stockholm and doing the internship. Even when I was occupied by other things, my Erasmus placement was always in the back of my head.

What now? I had no answer for that. So all the energy my brain had previously used on my internship now quickly got redirected into making up terrible doom scenarios. This was it, Cathy. Everything will go downhill from here on. You will return home and there will be nothing for you. You will never find a job that's even remotely as fun and interesting as this one. You will never ever have fika again. People in Belgium will not like you anymore and you will be alone, forever and ever... Forget about kardemumbullar and nyponsoppa. Forget about free coffee refills and gender equality. Forget about fresh air and efficient public transportation. And forget about white snow. From now on you are condemned to Belgium's toe biting ash grey slush and it will be the perfect metaphor for the drag of your daily life.

It took a sleepless, snot filled night and a lot of understanding nods and hugs from my patient friends to somewhat recompose myself. I managed to force the doom scenarios into a far off corner of my brain and I enjoyed every moment of my last week in Sweden. However, the sadness and fear were never absent. They slyly yet continuously nibbled on my thoughts, giving a sad undertone to everything I was doing. And that's ok. As Cecilia said during my farewell fika: "You're sad? Good. That means it was worth it." She was right, of course. It doesn't make saying goodbye easier, but it did help me accept all the bad emotions. They were, after all, testament of a fantastic time. 

Feeling overwhelmed and lacking words at my farewell fika means that I never got to say a proper thank you to everyone. And even now, I know I can never find the words to express what this experience meant for me. But I want to give it a try anyway.

First off, a big thank you to all my ‘senior colleagues’ at PXL, especially Corry Hermans, Jochen Didden, Sarah Awouters and Lieve Cuypers, for all the support and encouragement. Maarten, Bert, Jef, Pascale, mom, and all my friends and family in Belgium: thank you for missing me while I was gone, it’s greatly appreciated. Bart, without you this adventure would not have been possible. Anton, my dear friend, your willingness to answer every question I have, no matter how ridiculous, should be honoured with an award. Kriss, you may have had your doubts about Sweden, but you never ever doubt me and for that I adore you. Nordin, my thanks for everything - always. And of course, to everyone at Bonniers Konsthall, I am forever in your debt for welcoming me, teaching me, supporting me, trusting me and inspiring me. Wiggle cats, Jåanna, Rebecka, Sara, Cecilia and Narek, you fantastic women and man at work, you were the best team ever. In fact, Marvel should make a superhero movie about us. And finally, Katya and Yuvinka, I could not have asked for better mentors. You made me feel at home from the first moment I arrived. You helped me, encouraged me, laughed with me, cried with me and believed in me. You both did everything to make sure I could make the most of my internship. But above all: I am proud and so grateful to have you both as friends. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Södermalm. Probably the best malm in the 'holm.

Did you know that the city of Stockholm expands over 15 different islands? I found it a very amusing idea at first that I was crossing four entire islands by bus to get to the office every day.

Eastern Södermalm, map, 1674

The island I live on is called Södermalm. You might be familiar with it as the location of Stieg Larsson's Millennium/Dragon tattoo girl-trilogy. Due to its many hills it's the place to be for the best views over Stockholm. Apparently it is one of the most densely populated areas of Scandinavia, but to me it still feels like a very lively area in the countryside because there are so many parks, green areas, playgrounds and open squares around. It also never feels crowded, unless you decide to go to one of the many designer brand pop up sales.

Södermalm is sometimes also referred to as Sofo or hipster central, thanks to the many handsome bearded men who inhabit the area and make a living by selling specially brewed coffee, locally crafted thingy-mc gee’s or homemade organic ecologic vegan gluten free hotdogs - or of course by grooming the beards of the other locals. Everyone on the island is, aspires to be or has been the owner of a gallery at some point in their lives.

When I first arrived here I felt like I had stepped into a giant caricature of the real world, but I quickly grew fond of the area and I learned the locals were much more colourful and divers than I first thought. I am not the only one who likes it here: the large amount of people who want to live in Söder are pushing the housing prices up steeply and quickly. As a result, soon the things that attracted them to the area in the first place might be disappearing, as the circle of urban life tends to go.

Södermalm wasn't always home to the hip, the privileged and the artsy. It used to be a working-class area, expanding vastly during the rise of industry in the 1800's, and the area has not lost that vibe yet. Across the street from my studio flanked by two bistros, people still live in original wooden houses without modernised water works (and according to some, the original inhabitants might also still be around). Just a little further down the street, the futuristic Globe, the largest hemispherical building on Earth, is rising above the city skyline, on the border of a suburb that to me looks like an endless series of replicas of Pippi Longstocking's Villa Villekulla.

Most of Stockholm seems to be constructed this way - oldest, old, newer and newest are built next to and on top of each other without any concessions, excuses or attempts to assimilate. In many ways it seems to work better than any other urban development plan I have seen. It also means you can only describe Stockholm by using a lot of opposites. In Stockholm, turning a corner often means stepping from the 16th century into the 23rd. The traditional semla exists alongside new and trendy semmelwraps and wienersemlor. And yes, not everyone agrees with these modernisations and eccentric occurrences. Muttering, disagreeing sighs and even outrageous yelling happens. But in the end both 1800 wooden houses and the gigantic Globe stand right next to each other, and every morning fans of the traditional semla ride the bus together with semmelwrap eaters. And I love it.




Vi ses

Cathy


P.S.: If you want to see more of Södermalm, you can find some additional photos in this album.

There and back again

The days are getting longer, but my time here is growing shorter and shorter. I am starting to worry about my return to Belgium. I am not all that happy about it, in fact. I might be going home, but I am also leaving a home behind.

I think only keeping up to date about Belgium through newspapers has painted the bleakest picture possible of the country in my head. However, I did find things here that I was really missing back in Belgium and I am not at all looking forward to parting with them again. No, I am not just referring to semlor; I am talking about a more caring and social society where there is time and space to raise children, where culture still seems to be considered valuable, where drinking water is offered for free in public places, where nature and urban life can coexist and where coffee refills are often free of charge.

There are some things I can take with me. For example, my newly found self confidence, a portion of love for own person, some self reliance, tons of inspiration, some networking skills and a more kaleidoscopic view on life, which, all combined together make for a rather different Cathy than the one who left Belgium this winter. And that has got me worrying. How will "new me" fit in in the old setting? Or will I fall back into before-Sweden mode once I hit Belgian ground?


Whatever will be, will be, I guess. For now I am going to enjoy my Swedish home and Swedish self (or Cathy-Pippi, as one of my friends says) as much as possible for as long as I still can.

Vi ses

Cathy

Misty morning in Stockholm

Home, sweet Stockholm

I don't know when it happened. It must have sneaked up on me while I was working or visiting yet another museum and somehow slowly taken over. I didn't expect it would happen in such a short time, and I feel a tiny bit guilty about it...

I feel at home. I don't spend every waking moment desperately trying to fit in anymore. Stockholm and I have found a way to get along while we can both be ourselves. That doesn't mean I didn't change, but I have somehow internalised the things I needed to master to live everyday life here.

Bonniers Konsthall <3

It's good to feel at home. It gives me a peace of mind that allows me to enjoy the city in a more relaxed way instead of desperately trying to devour as much of it as possible as fast as possible.

And while I am settled in, spring is carefully testing the water. More and more birds return from the south (hah, perhaps some of them spent the winter in exotic Belgium) and the first blossoms and spring flowers are bravely making their appearance.

sweet spring is your

time is my time is our

time for springtime is lovetime

and viva sweet love 

― E.E. Cummings

Vi ses

Cathy

Making friends in Sweden aka that magical thing called 'Fika'

One stereotype often repeated when it comes to Swedes is that they are cold and distant people. I have to disagree. Swedes do love their personal space, that much is true. But once you get to know them, they are very warm and welcoming. I have yet to meet the first Swedish person who asked me how I was and did not genuinely want to know.

How do you make friends in a country where everyone loves their personal space? If you came to this blog to finally find out the magical rules of friendship in Sweden, I have to disappoint you. I still have no clue. It's not simple. Any attempt to start a conversation by simply stepping up to someone will result in bewildered looks in your direction and a rapidly growing distance between you and them. 

According to a friend who came here from Peru, Swedes often stay in the same social groups they have been in since childhood. Newcomers will have a hard time wiggling themselves in there. Somehow I did manage to make some friends, though. Perhaps it's a matter of staying calm, not making eye contact and patiently waiting until they approach you.

Or perhaps it has something to do with a magical thing called fika. What is fika? I will now join the large group of people who through time have tried and miserably failed to explain this. Because you can't put fika into words. Just like food is not just food, fika is not just a coffee break. There is coffee, and there is something sweet to eat, but it's not just that. Somehow the combination of coffee and cake constructs a framework for mingling, for getting to know each other, and to discuss issues in a relaxed atmosphere.

Fika is important. Very important. It was one of the first things I was told over and over when I arrived at Bonniers Konsthall: Fika is important. Forget about the spoonful of sugar. Fika is what makes the medicine go down. It's what seals the deal, inspires, launches plans, connects people and gets or keeps them on the same level. And it comes with cake.


Coming to Sweden? Don't skip fika.

Vi ses

Cathy

Schrödinger's Swede

Now I have been here for a while, I am starting to know my way around. I had a tiny personal victory moment a while ago when someone asked me for directions and I was actually able to help him out. Friends tell me I am "already turning into a Swede." Most of the time I manage to do everything here without a single problem.

But sometimes I get it completely wrong. There are rules I am not aware of, streets I didn't see before and words even the internet can't translate for me. To most Swedes I am not a Swede. I am a tourist at best, an outsider for most.

I am in a constant state of flux, switching between insider and outsider, being neither and at the same time being both. It is a weird sensation.

“I wonder if I've been changed in the night. Let me think. Was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I'm not the same, the next question is 'Who in the world am I?' Ah, that's the great puzzle!” 

― Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

It's the season... of semla

Around the same time I arrived in Sweden, so did something else: the semla.

Semla, as it is eaten here, is a pastry spiced with cardamom and filled with an almond mixture and whipped cream. Traditionally, semla was only eaten on Fettisdag (Shrove Tuesday), but these days semlor are available almost all winter. During my first lunch break at Bonniers Konsthall the whole conversation revolved around semla. Every bakery, tearoom and shop has semlor in the window and there are plenty of posters and advertisements featuring the semla all over town. On Fettisdag I saw queues outside the bakeries that would have made the average amusement park jealous.

Swedes surely seem to love their pastries and baked goods. Besides semlor, a wide range of cakes, pastries, chocolates and cookies can be found. I have tasted some really scrumptious cakes so far, though I did have to get used to the huge amounts of frosting and vanilla sauce that often come with it. I don't think it's just about the taste though. It's everything that comes with the pastry. I have noticed that dishes here are often very strongly connected to events, traditions, habits, emotions and memories. There is food for Cosy Friday nights and Saturdays are candy days. Fettisdag comes with semla and Saint Lucy's Day has lussekatten.

Another dish that has a lot of emotions connected to it, is fruktsoppa - fruit soup. There are many different variants, my favourite being rosehip soup. It's the kind of dish you'd get as a child when you weren't feeling too well, and it truly makes for good comfort food. You can eat it warm, with almond biscuits in it, but also cold or iced. You can combine it with cream or ice cream, but I haven't tried this yet.

And then there are the bananas. I didn't notice at first, but a friend pointed out that Swedes seem to be eating a lot of them: as a snack, but also combined with oatmeal for breakfast, or even with a spicy rice dish, in a tomato sauce, in a stew... or on pizza. The first time I saw someone slice a banana on top of a bowl of curry I thought she must have been mistaking it for something else. However, I am at this point almost convinced to try it myself. So who knows, I might be sharing my favourite banana recipes with you soon.

Vi ses



Cathy

Up and down

This experience might be wonderful, but Erasmus life does get lonely from time to time. Faces on the bus are never familiar and I can't order 'the usual' anywhere. I am left to my own device more than I am used to. It's not that I haven't met nice people here, on the contrary. There are plenty of people who will comfort me if I tell them I am not doing well. But sometimes you don't want to tell. You want people around who have known you for so long that they notice how you feel without a word being spoken.

Those people are far away now though, and keeping in touch is not as easy when you have to rely on modes of communication that previously barely had a place in your friendship. In fact, the people who screamed the loudest that they were going to skype with me all the time, are the ones I have heard the least of.

On the other hand I have gotten support out of unexpected corners. And if I need to be lonely or miserable once in a while, then Stockholm is a good place to be so. There is always some beautiful scenery (or a shoe shop) just around the corner. Stockholm is the kind of city that, right when you have had enough, will land a snowflake on the top of your nose. Besides, as walking through Södermalm's hilly streets has taught me: the ups and the downs - they belong together.

Vi ses

Cathy

Praktikant life

I'm not in Stockholm just to visit museums and try all the different local pastries and cakes. I came here with a very specific reason: my internship.

My student career has followed a bumpy road so far, so when I first applied for an international internship I didn't think I would really get the chance to go. It surely hasn't been easy getting here. But eventually I got "Yes" after "Yes" after "Yes", and my Swedish adventure became more and more real - though I don't think I allowed myself to believe it all until I was actually packing my suitcase.

The best "Yes" came by mail. "Dear Cathy. We are interested in hosting you..." I didn't realise it was a "Yes" at first. But then it started to dawn on me, like when someone slowly realises that the lottery numbers appearing on the television screen are actually the same as the ones on his ticket. And I really felt like I had won the jackpot - idiotically big grin, jumping up and down, uncontrollable laughter, clumsy victory dance: I did them all. Now I'm here, I still feel like I won the big prize (though I try to keep the clumsy victory dancing to an absolute minimum in the office to maintain an at least semi-professional posture).

So where is "here"? Well, if you happen to be in Stockholm, and you happen to take a walk down Torsgatan (Yes, that's right - Thor's street), then you can't miss it. It's the coolest building on the block: Bonniers Konsthall. Bonniers Konsthall exhibits contemporary art and hosts several expositions every year. I spend five days a week here, trying to be a good praktikant (That's Swedish for 'intern') for Katya and Yuvinka, who are responsible for everything that has to do with public and programs.

The biggest difference between my previous internships and this one, apart from the fact that it takes place in Sweden of course, is that I am not only working on my own project now. I don't just prepare things at home to only be on location during the activities. I am part of everyday life at the art institute. I see Monday mornings and Thursday afternoons, inventories and archives, meetings and coffee breaks, phone calls and deliveries, newsletters and calendars, publications and merchandise, guided tours and battery changes, brainstorms and decision making... Well, you get the idea. My own tasks are also varied. I have some pedagogical projects to work on and some administrative tasks, and besides that I get a lot of small chores and assignments.


I have my own desk and my own computer (with Google Translate as my number 1 bookmark) and I can take anything I need from the supply room - which is very good because someone keeps stealing my pens. I have the company of a fellow-praktikant, Jåanna. Although she works on different things as I, it is nice to exchange ideas and discuss the highs and lows of life as an intern. A part of the building is under construction right now, so sometimes I need/ get to wear a flashy jacket and hardhat.
 

Praktikant life. Jåanna likes Belgian chocolate, but she doesn't like to be in pictures.

The work culture here is quite different from what I am used to in Belgium. Things are a lot more relaxed and informal. Everyone is on a first-name basis. Upon arriving in the office, many people kick off their heavy outdoor shoes and slip into comfy shoes, or walk around on their socks. Meetings often get held in couches. The hierarchy is not as strict as in Belgium. Everyone, no matter their function, is very approachable. Office doors are only closed when people really can't be disturbed. Consultation and consensus seem to be very important. Many meetings are held every day. Sometimes I wonder what there can still be left to discuss. However, it gets the job done and it keeps people on the same page, so it definitely works.

I enjoy this way of working and I prefer it over what I have experienced in Belgium. Still, I am struggling to get used to it. It feels really weird to keep work related mails quite informal. Even though the doors are open it still takes me some convincing to go in and just talk to people. I enjoy having a voice, but I still need to persuade myself time and time again that I actually might have something to say... Perhaps in time I will master the art of working like a Swede. For now I'll just make do the best I can, keep working hard and learning loads and enjoying every minute of it.



Vi ses!



Cathy