In January 2011 Marita arrived in Uppsala, Sweden, for a semester of exchange. She enjoyed it. She enjoyed it a lot. She enjoyed it so much she's here for a year now. This is what she gets up to.
‘Tis the season to be… wondering where the hell the snow is
Back home, amongst friends and family, I’m probably the biggest fan of Christmas I know. Well, over the age of 14 at least. Every year, come December, I’m the one hanging off the edge of the roof, dangling Christmas lights and finding replacement bulbs, the one blaring Christmas tunes in the lounge room, the one smiling as I struggle to find a park at the shops in Eltham on Christmas Eve, and the one who goes to bed that night still a little bit excited for the next day. I fucking love Christmas. But my 23rd Christmas on this planet was obviously going to be a little different from the preceding 22. Being on the other side of the world tends to have that effect.
Blurry, I know, but that’s my room at Christmas. Fairy lighty goodness.
During my first few weeks in Sweden, Mum was constantly asking me if I was happy and was there any chance I was going to extend my stay. For those weeks, I repeatedly reassured her that one semester would be sufficient, and, besides, if I extended I wouldn’t be home for Christmas, which was simply not possible for me. Uhhhhh so I guess the moral of the story is don’t listen to Marita. During my second semester I gave little thought to how I’d actually spend my Christmas, but was excited at the prospect of a white one. When you’re walking through the snow, next to a pine forest, looking at houses decked out in gold fairy lights, sparkling in the 3pm darkness, every Christmas myth, tradition and stereotype starts making sense. Except for that one about burning goats… It had been a late, warm winter, but every time we got a little bit of snow, my dream of a white Christmas seemed more and more real. As November and December progressed, and I was waylaid with a heap of uni and Kalmar work (and burnt through a fucktonne of money), it became pretty obvious I’d be in Uppsala, having a very Flogsta Christmas. Lucky for me there were quite a few people like me, and Katy, an exchange student from Perth, started making plans for an Orphans’ Christmas.
The Wednesday before the big day(s), Lloyd, Katy and I moseyed over to Stockholm to check out the Christmas markets and do a little shopping. Battling through masses of school children we browsed through stalls packed with nuts, cheeses, wreaths, flammable goats and loads of other crap. The markets on Gamla Stan were the prettiest, for sure. Cruising over to Södermalm, we hunted for the English Shop, chasing foods we’ll have in abundance in just a couple of weeks time. In an act of sheer decadence, we each forked out 59kr for tim tams (around $8. I’m not proud). Following a bit more shopping, we walked past the NK Christmas windows (NK is like David Jones) and suddenly everything felt a lot more Christmas-y.
The following morning a few of us caught a bus out to Stenhagen to do a big grocery shop. The number of people attending the Orphans’ Christmas was rapidly increasing at the last minute and some essentials needed to be taken care of. Hunting turkey in the frozen food aisle, a Swedish woman asked us which the best to pick, to which we helpfully replied that we were clueless and our mothers usually took care of such things. Nonetheless, turkey, ham, meatballs and veggies, as well as a heroic amount of booze, was obtained.
Just a sample of what was on the Julbord. Ohhhh, and thanks Bec for this and the next few photos. I’d use my own, but they’re in the possession of some evil bastard now.
In Sweden, as in many European countries, Christmas is properly celebrated on the 24th, not the 25th, so accordingly we planned to celebrate on both days. Katy bravely volunteered her corridor as the venue, so on the 24th we headed over for a traditional Swedish julbord. And it was huuuuuuuge. I think we had about 38 show up, and everyone bought food and, oh dear god, potato overdose. At 10 we headed up to the roof to put an interesting twist on the old flogsta scream: carols, roared from the rooftop. Hope the neighbourhood enjoyed our ear-splitting rendition of “Silent Night”. Anyway, at this point I’d like to send a little message to a certain someone or someones:
To whoever nicked my camera on Christmas Eve, while I was up on the roof, thanks. Thanks a whole lot. Fuckface.
Just some of the Aussies present. Katy (hostess with mostess), Lloyd and Bec. I don’t know when I got sunburnt.
So yeah, I left sorta early, tired and needing to skype with the family at 3am or something. After a little nap, it was lovely to talk with everyone back home, despite the terrible quality of the first call. I missed you all, and I’m a little worried my cousin Aimee no longer has any idea who I am. Back to bed til 9am, then back at Katy’s by 10.30 for the real proper Christmas Day. Peeling veggies, watching Home Alone and Elf, we lamented our green Christmas. That’s right, Christmas in Sweden with no goddamn snow. A little bit devastated, but we made the best of it… by staying indoors and ignoring the outside world. Lunch was a smaller affair than the previous evening, but more relaxed. Special mention to Katy’s amazing ham, and Kevin’s equally awesome turkey. I didn’t think we’d be so successful in the absence of real adults. The day disappeared into a slight boozy haze, with games of flunky ball and cheeky naps keeping us kicking on. Around 2am, I struggled through gale-force winds back to my room, content with my first Christmas away from home.
It was a distinctly cosy affair.
However the festive season doesn’t end on Christmas night. The proceeding days I really lived it up… by lying on the couch and watching movies. For daaaaaaaaaaaaays. I was soooo boooooored. I did have one super productive day, in which I got up, paid rent, went for a swim, and, finally, went inside domkyrkan (the cathedral that is, essentially, the focal point of Uppsala). It was beautiful. I reflected on the year that was for a few minutes… then realised how freaking hungry I was and made tracks. Anyhoo, next thing you know, it’s New Years Eve. The thing I was most amused by was fireworks. Between Christmas and New Year a truck sitting next to the supermarket opened up and anyone over 18 was free to go in and buy fireworks. We tried it out on the Tuesday night and it was ridiculously fun and exciting for the Australians (“YOU CAN JUST BUY THEM? OUT OF THE BACK OF A TRUCK?!”). The plan for the evening was to hang around Flogsta and see what happened. I started off at Lloyd’s (“wanna come over for drinks and ham?”), before we checked out the party in 1:7. The crazy-drunk Swedes seemed to be getting on fine without us, so we jumped over to 8:5. Between 10 and midnight, I’m assuming I sat at a table and played drinking games, as I remember doing nothing else. Next thing you know, we’re out into the brisk night air, heading up to the roof of building 12. It was up here that we rang in the New Year to the most spectacular view. All of Uppsala lay out in front of us, and we virtually had 360 degrees of fireworks being set off. I couldn’t wipe the grin off my face as I traced the hundreds of lanterns floating across the sky. I spent a new year’s eve in Disney World and I reckon that wasn’t half as impressive. Pretty soon we realised it was too fucking cold to be outside (somwhere between -6 and -10 apparently), and we headed back to 8:5. Hours more drinking games, and next thing you know it’s 7am on the first day of the new year and time to crash.
Our view from the roof. (Nicked this from Lloyd, who nicked it from someone else, who nicked it from someone else… or something. Either way, cheers to whoever took this).
So that was my festive season. It’s been quiet and boring at times, but definitely different and worthwhile. I’m some 15 600km away from my family, and I survived, which is something of a personal achievement. Now my exchange is winding up, and I leave here in 12 days. Time to get those assignments done (kill me), moved out of Flogsta, and enjoy my last few days in the bubble.
