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.