Right Now

Right now, I would trade...
1. Our day at the Dinosaur exhibit, to watch my toddler frolick on the beach a mere 10-minute stroll from our home
2. Real bacon for a plate of cevap (Yugoslav sausage...yum).
3. Frequent car trips through big box store parks for a stroll around a charming, war-stained old town
4. This damp, rainy, persistently gray city for the rainy season and torrential downpours in a small seaside town
5. My brewed 100% Columbian for a cup of cooked Serbian sludge at friend Connie's
6. An overpriced cocktail for a shot of homemade rekija
7. A perfectly ripened cucumber for a tomato that tastes like...a tomato
8. My 2-story house for my old mould-infested apartment
9. My son's Montessori school for an afternoon with his Nanny.
10. The reserved faces of blonde stone that surround me for the tall dark-haired beauty at the local grocer who greets my family by name.
11. Online banking for paper bills and almost no bills at all!
12. Movie theaters with popcorn for badly-copied DVDs for 2 euro and all the time in the world to watch them
13. "Normal pizza" for soggy-crusted wanna-be pizza smothered in ketchup
14. McDonalds, Thai, sushi and the choice of every ethnic or not-so-ethnic cuisine under the sun for a multi-course, homemade, slaved-over-for-days feast prepared lovingly by dear friends in a small cozy apartment.
Right now, I would trade Sweden for Montenegro in a heart beat....Though tomorrow, I could very well change my mind.

From Famous to FU

I miss being famous. Not the autograph, sex tape, Oprah Winfrey, serial killer kind of famous. But the notoriety that came from being one of the first North American immigrant families in a small seaside town called Herceg Novi in Montenegro. I think we were numbers 6,7 and 8 for Canadians in the entire country.

When we landed, the fame was instant. Though I didn't quite realize it at the time largely due to the fact that I couldn't speak or understand the language and thus, failed to notice the grumblings in the community.

But when, after 4 months or so in the country, we magically hooked up with another family of quasi-Canadian immigrants (fled for Canada during the Balkan Wars and returned) who became the dearest of friends, I found out just how much we were the talk of the town.

Here's the story: While I was back home in Canada recovering with my newborn, hubby and his son flew back early to set up our new apartment. Hubby was bent on having a jacuzzi tub. There was nowhere to put it so he opted for our bedroom. Having it installed was a nightmare as at this point the Russian invasion hadn't hit with its full magnitude (meaning wealth) and noone in the town seemed to know how to install the bloody thing.

Our new friends eventually told us that word on the street was we had a hot tub smack dab in our living room. What?! The first evening we invited them over for drinks, they were anxious and excited to see this living room spa we apparently had going on. They also spilled some additional gossip. We were rich, very rich, evidenced by the fact that we had a nanny for our son. Ok, by Montenegrin standards, I guess you could say we were well-off.

We were a mystery. Noone could understand why sane people would leave the comforts of the Western world for the rough of a country picking itself up after a decade-long war. One of the most exquisitely beautiful countries in the world.

But the people embraced us. They took us under their wing. From boutique and local produce market workers to artists and lawyers and other prominent citizens, not to mention fellow expats from other countries, primarily the UK. They were helpful and kind and generous. They invited us over to their tiny apartments for lavish meals. They treated us like family. They included us in the most sacred family celebrations. We were humbled and grateful and honoured by each and every gesture, no matter how small.

They knew our son. They watched him grow. They loved him as one of their own.

And now we're here, in Sweden. Just a few more immigrants, another set of numbers. With the obvious exception of our dearest friends, we're alone. No friendly waves, smiles and jokes. No candy for my boy. No dinner or coffee invitations. Noone noticing if I've gained or lost weight. Noone overcharging us because they think we're rich.

Just a few more immigrants is all. Nothing to see here.

My first post...a repost

Hi there folks! Welcome to my little cyberspace. Now that I've actually "done it", ie. gone and got myself a blog, I'm lost for words. uhmmmm...Gone are the days when I'd say to myself, "See, if you had a blog, you could ramble on about this or that or the other thing". And here I am, an official "blogger" with no ideas for a blog post. Cripes (slang for "Christ" where I come from and obviously a better choice of word, kinda like "frig" is to the dreaded F word).

Yup, still here and still devoid of inspiration. I guess I understimated the responsibility that comes with being a blogger. Like going to your hubby's office party for the first time. All you keep thinking about is making that ultimate first impression. You try on a zillion different outfits, practice your smile, handshake and opening line. Promise yourself you're only gonna have 1 glass of wine. You wonder what people think of you. Are you the prettiest wife there? You better be! Then you get there and feel completely unprepared or wonder what you were so worried about in the first place as you down your 5th glass of wine....

Nobody needs to know someone's entire life story on a first encounter, do they? So instead of giving you the 411 on who I am, what makes me tick, my religious beliefs and my favourite flavour of ice cream, why not start off somewhere in the middle. Here's a post I wrote for my Facebook "fans" awhile back. We'll start here and go back to the beginning some other day:

Swedish Berries...
No, I didn’t write this list in one shot. I’ve been updating it every day for the past little while and decided to post it now for fear it got even longer. More updates of an Expats Life in Sweden to come so stay tuned.

• My favourite candy like EVER. And nope, there’s no such thing here.
• And the “Swedish massage”? Sorry men. That was made up to conjure fantasies of gorgeous blondes rubbing you down. A myth. They laugh when you mention it.
• But the Swedish meatball? Yup, it exists, they’re delicious but here, you eat them with lingonberry jam...ewww.
• Ok, so I found furniture polish...it’s the cream variety. I miss Pledge. Update: Found Pledge!
• I thought my dishwasher broke down. Hubby turned some water diverter valve thingy. I am so smart, I figured it out.
• I thought my dryer was broke. Friend came over. She’s better than any man. Apparently, it fills up with water in this dispenser type thingy and you have to empty it. Everything is powered by hot water here. She also figured out that I do in fact have a lightbulb in my fridge...hidden of course.
• Traffic lights? Nope. It’s all about the “roundabout”. For all you Haligonians, think about the dreaded “Armdale rotary” which screws everyone up. Times that by a million and you have smooth flowing traffic.
• DO NOT SPEED. They will take away your license. Period.
• All I have to do is come within 20 feet of a crosswalk and the cars slow down and stop. It’s a Christmas miracle.
• Son is watching Swedish Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, Little Einsteins, etc. No English channels . Talk about learning fast.
• You know that sound you make when you’re surprised by some news...you take in a quick breath? News like a friend won the lottery or your Great Aunt Harriet died? They make that noise constantly when they’re chatting away on their mobiles. I keep waiting to hear some exciting/dreadful news when they hang up. Apparently it means “ok” or the Swedish equivalent to the Canadian “eh”. I can let the air out of my lungs now.
• "Claudia has BASKET today” means “Claudia has basketball today”. Basket is short for Basketball in Swedish. We use the “ball”.
• You go for a cup of coffee around 2pm and realize it’s the same pot you brewed at 8am. That’s what their coffee always tastes like. Take the amount of grounds you put in your machine and times that by 3.
• Caviar is the Swede’s peanut butter. Though it’s not classy. It’s bright orange and comes in a tube. You squeeze it out like toothpaste. I love it.
• Some smarty pants invented a little plastic thing that acts as a quarter for the shopping carts. How many times have you gone to the store and realized you don’t have a quarter for the shopping cart? Take along this plastic thing and never worry about bumming change from strangers again (unless of course you forget the plastic thing).
• Remember in high school we had “Days”? Like today is Day 4 which means I have History, French and Math? Well this entire country functions on a DAY system that has little to do with days of the week or dates. I still haven’t figured it out. When I asked the clerk at IKEA when they would have what I wanted in stock she said, “Day 27”. Uh..what?! We musn’t forget RED DAYS...those are national holidays..they have A LOT of them.
• Unless you go to some fast food joint for lunch, ALL restaurants serve a lunch buffet. You can’t order off a menu and have to serve yourself cafeteria-style. It’s weird. Did I mention that everyone and I mean EVERYONE owns and drives a bicycle, everywhere?!
• I made my first trip to the liquor store and boy was it a TRIP. I just came from a country where you could buy alcohol anywhere (from grocery stores to kiosks) to a Canada-like country where they have a liquor commission. Ok, so I’m used to that. The kicker is that I walk in and bottles of wine and spirits are displayed on the walls behind glass cases. I’m instantly confused. I stand back and observe. Ok, that guy just took a number from that machine. Take a number from the machine. The number on the big board has changed to 217 and the man walks up, talks to the lady behind the counter, she goes out back and produces a few bottles. He pays. He leaves. The number changes to 218. I walk up to the lady. Ah, so I must tell her what I want! I do. She comes back with it. We do the exchange. She asks me if I want a bag (which I must pay for). She HANDS me the bag and I must pack my own liquor. Inneresting. Hubby says it’s like the olden days in Canada. Caveat: Not ALL liquor stores in Sweden are like this. They are starting to transform into LCBO-like mega stores. Thank God. I felt such shame in there.
• Turn up the heat people! Oh wait, you CAN’T. Is it too much to ask to be WARM in your own home? Everyone here has the same heating system. It’s hot water pumped into your house to power your radiators in every room. It’s cool, it’s energy efficient. The problem? It only goes up to 3! I’ll pay the bill. Just give me a knob that goes up to 10! My feet are always cold and I have to wear sweaters in my house. This is not cool.
• The stores here close early. Friend said it’s their labour laws. Need Internet support? Better call before 9pm (even earlier on weekends). The local grocery store closes at 8pm and they advertise, “Open Late”!