Sometimes I miss him

The grumpy little bastard, the stinky little brat. My parents' dog.

Elevator fobia

We hate sharing elevators with other people. The art of avoiding this stressfull activity is mastered by the Swedes, who manouver like mad in order to not take the elevator with the neighbours. The phenomenon proved to be funny and characteristic during a chat with the dear Mikaton, who told me about sharing a taxi with a Lebanese lady and her two kids. Sharing a taxi! Dear God!

Reaching the entrance to our building means a nervous looking around for familiar faces from the same straircase. A familiar face brings the threat of 30 most embarrassing seconds in the life of a Swede who is shy and antisocial by nature. A sigh of relief if we enter and are alone waiting for the elevator. A nervous smile and overly enthusiastic "Hej" - if there is someone waiting with us. The greeting has to be very friendly and kind of "Howfantastictoseeyouonthisrainyday, whoeverinhellyouare", otherwise one can be sure to be gossiped about. We enter, the one who stands closest to the buttons interviews the others about their destination (embarrassing if you are going to the same floor and not recognise each other), presses the proper ones and the ride begins. You do not talk, you try not to breath since it's too personal, inpolite, abusive, you try to avoid the eye contact for the same reasons. You simply pray for the ride to end. You reach your fifth floor, throw a thankful "Hej" behind your back and promise yourself to always take the stairs. Climbing will make your butt firmer and prolong your life by avoiding the unnecessary stress.

While in Poland, we experienced some relaxed, friendly rides in the elevator of my parents' house, the place where I was born and raised. L looked amazed and fascinated in how I transformed from a individualistic bitch into the elevator queen, sharing personal observations about Swedish men with the legendary Mrs Gozdzik (her name means Carnation, no kidding) from the ninth floor.

Back to Sweden we promised ourselves to import some of the elevator openess to the new place where we are moving in January. Or the next one, where we will move after that. Yeah.

There and back again

We are back from all kinds of long journeys. Have been to Thailand, Poland, Gotland and many other weird, unexpected places this summer. Most of all we have been scared. Beginning of August is traditionally the worst time of year for me.

But now the heat is over. There is air to breathe, there is plans to be made. There is a chance that I will start over and succeed with things that I hoped for this year.

I am back to myself, back to blogging. Hoping for the Autumn to come, to bring clear air to Stockholm and clear thoughts to my mind.

And thank you to all of you who know what I am thanking for. Luv you!

Judge by the cover

Stockholmers love to read. Summertime-lack-of-free-morning-paper-crisis makes them read even more books than usual, which is particularly visible during my tube ride to work in the morning (it's empty, so one gets to see more than the back of a co-traveller in front). They read paperbacks, mostly romance and crime, which is better than nothing, say I, the one who judge people by their cover.

A pick-a-book place should be available on all major tube stations in Stockholm, I think. Spots like that are wonderful: on the boat that L takes to work every day there is a bookshelf where the travellers can leave books that they do not want to have, for other passangers to pick them up. You leave Mari Jungstedt, pick up Henning Mankell. For example. No money needed, no strange librarian either.

We saw a spot like that in our hotel on Samui this summer. Mostly Scandinavian books, which means that the habit of leaving the books you have read already and do not want to keep is typical to the region. One of the reasons I like it here, actually. The one that makes me like it a lot!

Launching another M

Marta, a girl of many faces, my sweet friend whom I am seeing no later than tomorrow night at the Poznan airport, is writing a blog. You can find it here! From countryside with love.

Nightswimming

Zielone curry

Jesteśmy z powrotem. Odzwyczajam ciało od kołysania: oceanu i samolotów. Przyzwyczajam je do dobrego chłodu, tego niepochodzącego z wrednych klimatyzatorów.

Jestem znacznie mniej brązowa, niż to się wydawało w gorącym słońcu dziewiątego równoleżnika Samui. Nie szkodzi.

Tęskno mi za zielonym curry, za kundlami na plaży i zieloną herbatą w chińskich barach.

***

We are back. My body is getting un-used from the wavy oceans and airplanes. Getting used to the good cold, not the one coming from the nasty air condition.

I am much less brown than it seemed in the sun of 9 degrees north of equator of Koh Samui, but that's ok.

I miss green curry, dogs on the beach and green tea in Chinese bars.