The art of leisure

Sleeping at least ten hours every night. Watching a couple of documentaries and a film a day. All the news. Going through all the books and newspapers. Outdoors for at least two hours. Spending quality time with cats dogs and horses. Cooking. Honestly. Now i feel readyleisured. Will start working tomorrow and that will be just perfect.

In love with Strindberg

Or at least with Jonas Karlsson's interpretation of Strindberg. Swedish Public TV has produced a two episode play about August Strindberg - one of Sweden's most famous writers. The play was absolutely brilliant and I am so sorry I cannot provide an english version.

The very instant the play was over me mom and dad began looking for the old books from my grandparents and great grandparents. All three of us felt an urge to read. Not having read as much as we wished.

As a russianlitlover i would say he equals Dostojevskij. Writing about good and evil - and above all - exploring god's existence. Although Strindberg has been accused of being a misogynist - my favourite book is Qualms of Conscience - about a united Europe, the Red Cross and gender equality. So he cannot be all that bad. The most famous books includes The Red Room and Inferno. Both in English.

A distortion of normalcy

That is the term. A distortion of normalcy. When something absolutely unacceptable happens so many times it eventually turns normal.

Some weeks ago i watched a Swedish documentary - The Scapegoats - about some kids at a Swedish school making so much trouble they got suspended from school. The very minister of education made a statement out of this - explaining there must be law and order in the school and that he would never - ever - accept such a behaviour.

The documentary is very sensible - almost handcrafted. A necessity not to infect the situation even more. Providing a background to all the headlines. Continuous iterations giving a picture of disappointed immigrant families who see the Swedish education as weak. Corporal punishment is seen as the universal and only way to raise children. Stunningly unaware of the fact that their children fight the worst.

All through the documentary I am fascinated by these incredibly well-spoken and bright kids. Constantly with violence in the air. Recognise them so well from the suburbs where I have been working and lectured. So much love so much hate.

If one - instead of turning them into something as self-fulfilling as scapegoats - would channel their energy in a more positive direction - we would have the most well-functioning and multifaceted society. Even the king spoke on this in his yearly christmas speech. If he sees it - why can not their own principal see it. Or the minister of education.

The question appearing clearer by every minute is why these pupils - so empathetic on the camera - are so completely different in school. Why do they feel so left out. Why do they use violence. Why. Maybe because they do not feel the respect love confidence space they deserve. Maybe because they are not treated in the same way as ethnically Swedish children.

The psychologist in the show speaks about a distortion of normalcy. What is normal in an ordinary Swedish villa suburb with a majority of ethnic Swedes - is no longer normal here. In a villa suburb the slightest slap would be reported. Here the principle says jesus we cannot run around reporting all the time. The normalcy is another one. Within the very same Swedish society.

With that insight I listen to the principals weak objections that it is impossible to argue with convinced people - ie the immigrants with a so called different culture. Or - maybe even worse - that she sees no connection whatsoever between violence at home and kids fighting. Or that she does not see a future for these children. It hurts so bad.

After listening to negotiations in the UN - where Sweden is a leading country regarding children's participation and the abolition of corporal punishment - I feel totally devastated by this documentary. And to hear the minister of education being so ignorant. It hurts even worse.

The documentary will be on the net for some more days - but unfortunately in Swedish only.

Swedish winter landscape

Almost feel like a townie when i say i have only seen one moose ever. But the other day i saw no more than four. Unfortunately i did not have time to zoom - but i am glad i had my camera. Aren't they beautiful.

Beautifully silent and dark

Maybe the most swedish thing ever - is to complain over the darkness the cold and the silence. Clearly i have never understood any of this. At the very moment i am enjoying sleeping watching movies lightening candles and really fully embrace the darkness outside.

I do think my escapades in new york have some influence on my sleepiness tho. Yesterday night i slept no less than fourteen hours without wakening up at all. Or maybe it is the lack of a busy court-yard whistling neighbors kids with toy cars sirens church bells or not to mention firemen bursting into the apt eight o'clock a sunday morning.

Tribute to Lady

In my Swedish blog i have a picture of me and a dog. It is my brothers cockerspaniel Lady as a puppy. A tad bigger now - but just as cute. Perfectly well behaved and stunningly charming.

Finally at home

Stopped by my brothers farm to have a look at his new boxer Tyra. Oh my gosh i am totally in love. What a treasure. Absolutely adorable. Not to mention Lady who runs out of the picture.

Leaving New York for a while

Airports have a certain very special shimmer. A sense of wistfulness slowly spreading. Somehow this is both an ending and a beginning. And amongst all these feelings the beautiful simple technology. No sentimentality. Silence. Love the feeling.

Without my swedish safety zone

Living abroad i always have to confront my own private boundaries. Clear private boundaries that - in Sweden - are all natural and obvious barely exist abroad. No one here respects my wishes to be silent or on my own or on a double seat or with a safety meter. At home we are spoiled with almost an excessive respect for other peoples private life.

The laundromat is a very illustrative example. I cannot even imagine a swede gladly holding their dirty undies up in the air for a while - loudly gossiping with someone across the room - before throwing it into the machine. Or that i would - after an evening at the washing machines - know more about these people than about my own friends. Sex drugs and sicknesses are quite candidly discussed. Not to mention all those couples arguing about the domestic burdensharing.

At the very same time i do realise that swedes are unusual with all the space and high standards of ours. Somehow this material advantage made us develop our own culture. A culture of independence and pride that many times makes our lives so much more complicated. Having one's own laundry machine you wont knock on the neighbor's door to ask for some detergent - you will rather walk to the far-away store.

As an observer i sometimes get jealous of this unconstrained every-day life. Everything i would consider so private being so open. But when i become a part of this myself i get claustrofobic and totally escapious. I feel naked and just want to go home.

Winter landscape in New York

Could so not resist Raoul Wallenbergs brown fifties briefcase with the colorful hawaii flowers against the crispy white snow.

Timeless design

After some attention to the farmers market on Manhattan i decided to add some extras. Actually i got quite suprised by their recycling of all the old objects. Just as we do at home. This is an old milk bucket that i totally fell in love with. Gotta check with mom and dad if we have something like this at home. Beautiful design. Great recycling.

The country side in New York

Coming home from the office tonight i was tired and low with my pod at its very loudest. Even so i awaited the neighbor kids coming down the street - so they wouldnt have to get their keys and hustle the door. We said hi youre welcome and thank you. Somewhere beyond Global Deejays i suddenly heard something about a cool jacket. I just thought about the fact they had no jackets - so i turned around. A bit suprised.

It turns out these supercool hiphopkids paid some attention and tribute to my oil skin coat. I take out my pod and hear this beautiful newyorker accent. I really love your jacket. Thanks. Its so cool. Thanks. And i laugh a little bit and say its definitely farmers style. Her smile covers her whole face and she says then farmers style is my style. Then both of us laughed and agreed farmers style is the style. How very unexpected.

Subcool rain

That ice storm has not quite reached New York yet. But the weather today. My gosh. Subcool rain snow and pouring rain. Tomorrow it will be rubber boots and my barbour oil skin coat. Thats for sure.

First Avenue outside the UN

Always as difficult to describe the feeling of security threats. But a snap shot just as i went out the diplomats entrance to the UN shows all the police cars. Do note how many lights that are blinking even though there are only police cars. A tad tense.

In the eye of the storm

Just when i come to the entrance i realise i forgot my UN-badge. I call my lunch date and say that i simply will have to cancel. He says god no - lets meet at the visitors entrance and i will eskort you in.

So for the very first time i enter the UN through the visitors entrance. It feels quite odd and i laugh about myself being such a tourist. After a lovely lunch with the view of East River we say goodbye and i leave my eskort pass. When i walk out through the doors i realise i walk straight into yellow embarring tape. Two police officers ask me to turn.

I have a talk with one of them explaining i actually have a diplomatic pass and know the UN - so maybe i could use another exit. Kindly he answers me all exits are closed for now. Suddenly another officer comes up - notably more tense. Discretely i stay and hear him say there is a suspicious package - get the people out of here - now.

Slowly i walk back to the tourists. Without my diplomatic UN-badge i feel naked. After all the bombings when i lived in Moscow i by instinct put my drivers license in my pocket. It is all about identification.

Back in the lobby I ask if the diplomats exits are still closed. Well as you are not a diplomat - you stay here. Well if i am. The guards wait to answer. I ask if i could have a pass without the eskort. The guard directs me to the man behind the counter. Absolutely. If i am in the blue book. But i am not. Because i am not here permanently.

Ah. Even though it most likely is a forgotten bag i do not want to stay. Kindly i ask the man to check my ID to the list of passes. A phone call later i finally receive my card.

Slowly i walk through the corridor from the General Assembly to the Sekretariat. It is absolutely quiet. I think about what the officer just said about Algeria. Slowly i think i should call the mission. That i should call mom and dad.

Finally reaching the pouring rain and dark clouds i hear the cacaphonia of sirens. Realise that the whole first avenue is filled with police cars black vans ambulances fire trucks. Yellow embarring tape.

So calm at the same time. I can not do anything but leave. So i left.

It's all about self-promotion

Have actually reassessed many of my prejudices about the US. But one image has grown stronger day by day. That attitude and self-promotion really does make a difference here. Thought about it when i was to chose roomie for the spring. Someone came here looking. All through the viewing she asked terribly detailed questions and put critical comments about perfectly everything. Finally i got fed up. My god. This is a rental apartment in Alphabet City - and costs absolutely nothing. Wooden floor newly renovated kitchen and wireless is actually really really good.

Honestly i told her i would offer the apartment to swedish interns at first. And suddenly she changed completely. Incredibly charming nice positive open. Then i realised that even to find a simple rental apartment one has to work hard in this city. Not only to sign a website to have a letter sent home and a key in the hand. Quite the opposite. Its all about contacts personality chemistry timing talent. Everything.

Farmers market in Manhattan

Just between my office and the UN - at the monument of Dag Hammarskjöld - there is a farmers market every wednesday. Somehow quite odd. But the apples are so good and the market is the only place where i actually found really good sourdough bread. And everything being so well presented. Like cauliflower in four colors.

Another dimension

Some weeks ago i discovered a blog by this Swedish writer - Jonas Bergh. While reading i got more and more captivated. Affected. The feeling was almost surrealistic. Just when i saved the favourite and was about to close the page i realised why. The site beneath was Pacha. Open Pacha at first and then Jonas - or any random poetic english blog. And realise the difference made by the sound.

Thinking a lot about sounds. Maybe cause i come from the countryside. All the sounds are so unique and mean so much. The sounds of the horse are vital for the way i am riding just as the whining of the wind will make me stay in or the sound of the thunder for what plugs i will pull. As soon as i turn into a cit i let go. The sounds dont matter to me anymore.

At home out on the countryside i am usually outdoors without the pod. Love the nature too much to pollute. But in the city i always bring it. To deafen all the whistlings comments looks raised fingers and cursing drivers. I even bring the pod to clubs just to listen on my way home. This fall i have constantly been listening to Claes Roséns beautiful Eighties strolling New Yorks shady and empty streets early in the morning hours. The feeling is indescribable. Listen.

Another absolute favourite is listening to cheezy swedish dance-bands biking to the office in the morning. How about passing some afroamerican kids or an american hard core pick up - with a cheerie "Nothing Will Stop Us Now" or "You Give Me Good Vibrations". My smile goes from ear to ear when i sneak in between the yellow cabs.

An astonishingly beautiful picture

Stayed home with a cold last week. The perfect time for a documentary. Tucked myself in with a blanket and warm socks in the sofa. My mac safely in my knee and full screen picture. Even good dissolution. Yummie.

My supervisor just told me about Ambres. A maybe somewhat odd fellow in a beautiful film with an interesting message. I felt it was worth an hour. With a quite clear picture before my eyes - i did have some low key expectations.
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From the very first scene i was absolutely spellbound. The documentary is a never-ending beautiful eternity with scenic landscapes dripping rain and sparkling fires. Incredibly beautifully depicted. Photo. Framing. Sentiment.

Although every single word by my supervisor came true - the most true were the words one has to see it. To understand. When the film was over i felt like a completely different person. Wonderful. Beautiful. All warm and cool at the very same time.

The film maker turned out to be Anders Grönros did make both Agnes Cecilia and the Glassblowers child - two of my Swedish favourites. Beautiful mystical depictions. Oh. I do feel genuinely happy when those talented people just reappears.

Ambres is on the Swedish website until December 25th. No English subtitles tho. Only if one buys it. Too bad.

9th and A

I am falling deeper and deeper in love with my kitschy neighborhood. Passed the 9th street and A some weeks ago and didnt know whether it was a restaurant or an antique shop or some kind of supplies. Now i know it is a perfectly beautiful thai restaurant with the cutest staff.

The hippie feeling with All you need is love love love love love is all you need along the walls and Serge Gainsburg in the speakers. Wildly decorated and simply adorable. Definitely my recommendation for eating. Far from the clinical fast food joints.

Darling

Wanted to see Darling for quite a long time. Swedish film swedish everyday film. Maybe Together or Show Me Love. Otherwise not too many. Surprises me there are so few.

An uptown girl who - against all odds - loses both employment and boyfriend. Of course she lacks social security and decent family relations. Suddenly she works at MacDonalds with a middleaged unfortunate engineer. A winning story. Some scenes so painfully awkward i don't know where to look. And still i cant stop watching.

Evas absolutely monotone voice feels incredibly fake and mannered. At the beginning. But through the film it grows on you so that you can feel it all through your body. Finally a shiver of the voice is like a scream. A whisper an order. Basically. It is great.

Apparently it was a low budget film - but one cant tell because the photo is superb. And the music is beautiful. Reminds me of An unended journey and Métro Boheme. Peter Englund puts it so well - the camera rests not on the one speaking, but on the one silent..

Sure. I rather agree with SvD that it lacks touch with reality than DN that it is a class depiction. But it doesnt matter. Because the greatness of the movie is not to be documentary. Quite the opposite. I saw the film some weeks ago and has still not been able to let it go. For me that is quite rare.

Moments at the UN

Friday evening maybe eightish. Passing by the deserted General Assembly when my eye catches some one sitting across the hall. All alone in the sofa where no one ever sits. With the UN emblem just above. The street lighting outside the window. The silence so tangible i can hear it. The loneliness.

Colorful

The decorations in an indian restaurant just by me. Dashing. Please do note the blue beach ball with fishes.

Those running shoes on

At eightish tonight i just felt it. I had to. For the first time since i came to New York i put those running shoes on. Gosh. So totally happy.

My roomie - who has lived here for a year - asked me to avoid the empty streets down by the river. So that is exactly where i ran. Avenue D and down to the more rough areas. I just love running those dark streets with steem seeping up through the manholes. Rats scurring round my feet. Odd fellows hanging out in the shadowed doorways. A couple of kids boxing. Crosscountry. Hood.

After about half an hour i totally lost control of north and south. Finally asked two supercool hiphopers for the way. To cute to be true. After some gibberish it turned out i was only two blocks away from Ave C. When i run away from there i stop to let a cab pass. Behind me i hear a very sweet Baby dont worry no one is following you in this hood.

I just had to turn around and crack a big laugh. It is so chocking having a curvy blonde jogging by in black tights i obviously have to be scared. No worries tho.

A little bit further up on Avenue C i ran passed some random guys who suddenly burst out into Oh honey - thats paying off. God bless you. Dont they have anything better to do. What do they do all day long. How do they come up with all these comments. I can hardly be the first runner in lower Manhattan. Or maybe i am. Maybe i dont adjust to the lifestyle as i should. I guess one is supposed to run in Central Park. But in so many ways this is so much more fun.

Craving for some good running

A lonely runner along the horizon in Central Park a Sunday afternoon. I can feel the very happiness all the way down to my running shoes. And i do realise there is no turning back. I miss my running so much i could die. Gotta learn to make time for it.

This spring i took the (swedish) mile a couple of times a week and in between some interval and shorter runs. Just love it. In quiet with no pod just feeling those steps. Nothing compares to being really fit and just run. No limits. Such a total ease.

Absolut Sweden

Waiting for the bus the other day I saw a couple carrying H&M-bags. Crossing the path of a young man on his way to the laundromat carrying a big blue IKEA-bag filled with laundry. The man next to me read a Metro and just in front of us a Volvo passed by. Literally unbelievable. More Sweden than in Sweden.

Every day I see ads for Mamma Mia! not to mention the cute little cab-ad flashing by. Young Folks in every Apple Store and stylish cafe. Superbeautiful Absolut ad. Home.

Fascinating how tiny Sweden somehow is so big.

Emotional biking

When I am out biking I get so many comments it sometimes makes me laugh out loud. A tad outrageous of course - but still entertaining.

Yesterday this gentleman comes up to me - furious - making a total scene - telling me to buy a bell and a helmet. Fine - a bell would be great. But a helmet is not my way of biking. All chill I told him to move away from the crossing as it turned red. Obviously more dangerous.

Today this lady became all upset with me leading my bike on the walk. But I was walking right. So. Imagine I would have lead my bike on the cycletrack. The bikers would have slaughtered me. For sure.

If I ever stop and ask about the way - they look at me as if they have seen a ghost. They say god bless you and take care and all kinds of stuff - instead of actually telling me where to go.

Do please note that even the biking symbol has a helmet. Gosh. This country do need some common sense and a few bikes.

Finally

Today I finally did what I should have done a long time ago. So many weeks that have been lost in Swedish. So many friends that have remained unaware of my observations. Now elina is in English.

I will keep blogging in Swedish just as before. My fairly universal postings will be translated. But not the very narrow Swedish ones. Everything written in English will be in Swedish - but not necessarily the other way around.

Due to lack of time elinaelinaelina will always be my priority. Swedish is still so totally beautiful and irreplacable. Love Swedish. Would never write in English only. Sometimes difficult to explain to nonswedes. But I do know that no matter how well English we speak. We do not do it if we do not have to. It is not quite worth the effort.

I might translate some old posts from my Swedish site. If so. They will be posted under the accurate date and therefore not be put at the top op the page. So be attentive. Or just add RSS to this page.

The Sweden we do not export

One of the nominees for the Scan Pix Award is Thomas H Johnsson. A Blues from Landskrona.

And for everyone who is not Swedish I can just briefly say that Landskrona has the reputation of being the most criminal city in Sweden with a lot of racism and despair. But - as always - there is a bigger picture to it. The speaker's voice in the background is just BRILLIANT - speaking in a dialect so funny and saying things so striking. What a contrast. Absolutely amazing.

A gotta-see even for those not speaking my beautiful mother tongue.

An undended journey - En oavslutad resa

Sometimes some pictures are so amazing. Just by being.

Today the Scan Pix Award was announced. Marc Femenia Nobell is a Swedish photographer - born in Mexico and raised in Mallorca - who came to Sweden as an exchange student from Barcelona. Wich is quite fascinating as such.

The five minutes long exposé of his pictures - with beautiful music from Métro Boheme - is a MUST. I just love those pictures. So simple. Arranged yet genuine.

The introduction in Swedish reads:
After seven years of angst - Mimoza Selmonaj got a residence permit.
The hard times were over - now it was only to adjust to a new city, a new profession and a new society.

The photos mainly expose the situation of refugees and immigrants in Sweden after the permit. Waiting for a permit for up to seven years. Seven years without longstaying plans for the future. The mental pressure of not knowing. Thinking of the past. Longing.

After all these years they are supposed to be strong enough to coop with society work family life happiness. Be integrated as Swedes. Fighting prejudice. Keeping faith. Somehow I do get a strong - for me very rare - feeling of impossibility.

This reminds me so much of my kids in Lund. Being a coordinator for kids between six and nine - immigrants from all over the world growing up in a neighborhood quite forgotten by the rest of the society. The lack of respect from the outside creating a sense of hopelessness and alienation. Together with a strong sense of we. Devastating.

The Analogue America

Neil Peter and all those magazines. Please note I'm risking my life in the middle of the street taking this pic.

Neil. This one is for you. And your urge for commenting Swedish news. A friend of Madeleines called America analogue. So true. But why is the American society so under-developed. Could you please tell me that. The phones are not working in the subway. Every other text gets lost. Phones are virtually impossible to fill with money. Nothing is online. Always and everywhere this stupid machine voice telling me things I do not want to hear. People still read newspapers in paper. Compared to Sweden this is crazy.

Not to mention. All meals include knife fork spoon three napkins at least three plastic containers and two additional plastic bags. Everyone buys soda on cans and throws them away in the next garbage bin. No one would ever consider a bike instead of a car. And they wonder what climate change is all about. Compared to Sweden this is a total nightmare. Couldn't we just bring about Swedish life style as a business concept..? Ie - stay informed and healthy while fighting global warming. Neil. That would be something for you me and Oprah.

We still will have to negotiate for your addiction to snus though. I'm not quite sure that snus would be an advantage for our new Utopian Digital American Society.