Winter Comes

On the night of October 31st-November 1st we got our first big snow storm. Even by Stockholm standards, this is an early start to winter. The busses stopped running, and the poor trees, who had only just gotten around to losing their leaves, were weighed down by the snow, and they lost branches.
The Handsome Swede has always promised me that winter in Stockholm is the nicest time of year. Why? Because, he says, of the sensation of coziness.

Swedes use the word "cozy" in English far more frequently than we actually make use of the word in the States, and I'm assuming that as I have more interaction with them in Swedish, the Swedish word will come up pretty often as well. Walk into a restaurant, and immediately a Swede will begin sizing up the coziness factor. Perhaps everyone does this, but Swedes seem to do it more consciously and with more precise deliberation. They know a thing or two about cozy.

So what exactly is cozy? Well, for this discussion of winter's onslaught, let us limit ourselves to a certain sub-genre of coziness. When you are in close proximity to cold, dark, freezing wetness, but you are nevertheless dry, warm, and in the light, the sensations of warmth, comfort and protection are heightened and more perfect.

The Swedes are very good at producing cozy. It's almost a national art.
I am discovering the joys of it as we speak. Here in Stockholm, rooms are very warmly lit with reds and yellows. Good heating with no draughts is a given. And the architectural joys of Stockholm -- its narrow, winding, hilly, cobblestone streets redolent with the scent of the ocean; 17th and 18th century buildings with gables and ornate iron gates and cupolas and vaulted ceilings and fireplaces, and candles in the windows and unexpected, tiny fanlights with yellow light shining through -- remind one somehow of a medieval fairy tale, which is a very cozy thing indeed.
So I'm not unhappy with the coming of winter. The streets are even more beautiful in the snow.

TAKING STOCK

I've been here for a month now, and I can begin to take stock. Learning Swedish, as you've probably gathered, is going well. I like this place as much as I thought I would. The people that I've had reason to interact with have shown me nothing but kindness.

There is a great deal I still miss about Berlin however. What I miss most painfully are my books. I miss them much more than I thought I would. As I go about my writing here, I'm always thinking of some reference I'd like to dig into. An article I read on the internet makes me want to review Grass' Tin Drum, or I want to know what Nietzsche meant when he wrote this or that, and my comprehensive Nietzsche, my Tin Drum, aren't here. Living without a personal library gives a feeling of living in suspension, without having your feet on the ground.

Another thing: I'm a bit confused about how to go about making friends so that I have a peer group here (this is something that I've learned is important only over time -- I really didn't used to understand just how important it is.). However, that will be helped enormously when I have the language, and have a job. Both things that will come with time.

Yet another, and this one is pure bellyaching really: is that there is an enormous difference between Berlin and Stockholm in terms of the price of food, both in restaurants and in supermarkets. The result is that I can't afford to eat fruit and vegetables in the way I used to, and I can't afford to get out of the house as much as I like. I'll confess that in Berlin, where a restaurant meal sets you back five dollars, I ate out four nights a week. I loved the change of scenery that came with eating out, being around people in interesting locales. Here we eat in every night. I'm only just beginning to learn about which frozen vegetable are tasty if you can't afford fresh (who knew that frozen dill tastes just as good in a sauce as fresh dill???), and how to pick out the cheapest types of fruit. So it's all working out, really, but it has demanded some serious adjustment.

Generally I'm very happy with the move, so I don't want to give you the wrong idea. But I felt that I would be remiss if I only gave you the positive side of things. Uprooting yourself and moving to a new place and then growing roots in the new place so that you know how to thrive like an expert is a process that takes years, even if it's a short plane ride that takes you from one place to the other. However, I do believe that the rewards are high. There are different schools of thought on this, but in my short life, my experience has made me believe that you never really get uprooted from a place after leaving it. It will always be in your heart, and so when you put down roots in a new place, in effect you're adding places in the world where you feel happy and comfortable, not trading in.

Everyone is different of course. Especially socially. Some people have deep attachment to the old boys and girls, their oldest, dearest, family and friends, and a move like this would cause them to pine for the dear ones who are no longer near by. I can understand that well. Then there are those who are very talented at making friends, and within six months of a move like this, they have surrounded themselves with a new circle of people, even as they stay in touch with the old. And then there are people like me, introspective and in large part introverted, who, although attached very deeply to people, always feel somewhat removed from others by virtue of their need for solitude, and I think my type weathers moves most easily, because it is not so very jarring to go from spending a good deal of time alone in one country to spending a good deal of time alone in another.

But I'm not a robot or a lone wolf. I do have the need for a social life after my fashion, and the process of getting one is never easy. As per usual, I'll keep you updated.