Saturday, June 14, 2014

Full Circle

I've been home exactly one week. At once it feels like no time at all...and ages. When I go running, listening to the same Aerosmith music that I listened to in Cork, I can close my eyes and see my Irish running path unfolding before me, meter by meter. When I see a stick lying in the tall grass on the side of the road, I almost have to physically restrain myself from picking it up and...well, where would I move it to? Toss it into the road? Honey, you're in the 'burbs now, I think. And everybody knows everybody. So you probably shouldn't dance to your heart's delight along your new running route (except you do so anyways). You also probably shouldn't try to order a beer at that restaurant, because, girl, you've got over a year to go before that's even legal. Your fingers twitch towards your parents beer...it looks all the more appetizing because it's out of reach. You kind of want to try ordering just because you think it's a dumb law.

That said, I really haven't felt the reverse culture shock so much. Maybe on the plane in Chicago, and the nightmare that is making a connecting flight in the O'Hare airport. I compare Heathrow to Chicago here, and that perhaps is a little unfair because Heathrow's Terminal 5 was voted best terminal in the world, or so I remember. However, the contrast between Europe's extensive transportation system and the US' becomes a little laughable when one spends 2/3 of one's transfer time waiting in the US Citizens Customs line, thinking about how pissed off all of the Americans look while video screens overhead blast energetic, patriotic music with fireworks going off in the background and the words 'Chicago Welcomes You' blink at you in bold letters. Actually, that was one surprising thing: Americans tend to radiate a lot more pissed off vibes at the world than others, in both the way they speak and stand. Interpret that how you will. People seemed happier in Sweden. That said, I am very happy to be back home.

I spent my first Saturday in the States rushing around town and chattering until my dad's eyes glazed over and returned to the paper. IT hit Saturday night: that leveling bulldozer they call jet lag, combined with a cold. I woke up Sunday morning actually delusional with fever, freezing cold, at 2:30 in the morning, not tired. So I romped quietly around the house for the next 6 hours and decided that 'getting back on schedule' was not a top priority with a cold, so I went back to sleep. And woke up terrified that instead of a cold, and jet lag, that I was in fact dying of Tick-Borne Encephalitis EVEN THOUGH supposedly West Sweden does not have ticks that carry that disease. I had all of the symptoms. My life goals kept flashing before my eyes and each time I'd feel a new pang of disappointment: well, I haven't really done anything much yet and I've got things to do before my nervous system fails and I'm bed-ridden or dead. So I take some Advil because I figure this is ridiculous and fever induced, and I go back to sleep. I've done a lot of sleeping these past few days. And also managed to finish True Grit, which, if you haven't read it, is the ultimate American Classic and possibly takes the cake as my favorite book of all time. Mattie Ross don't take no shit from no one.

Wednesday, June 4, 2014

The Last Things


Two weeks of WWOOFing later, I find myself Thursday morning in a Dublin hostel, awaiting my Aircoach bus back to Cork City. There, I pick up the suitcase I left at the Tourist Information office two weeks ago, do some last minute shopping for the fam (yes, I think I can manage to bring you back some porridge oats, because it seems oats in the US *just don't taste the same*), stock up on a lifetime supply of digestive biscuits (I say for other people...we'll see if they last the flight), and go running through my Cork walking path one last time. Tomorrow is an early 5 am start to catch 3 connecting flights, which should, if everything goes smoothly, put me back in the States by tomorrow evening.

Hands down, I am really excited to see my family. It's been over 5 months since I've seen them and over two weeks since I've talked with them by any other means save email to let them know I'm still in fact alive. Which, I suppose, way back when would have been quite a lot of communication when it now seems like little. In any case, at the same time, I will miss adventuring abroad and all of the wonderful people who have made my time away such a fantastic experience. Thank you all! And to those back home, I am looking forward to seeing you soon!

Sunday, June 1, 2014

WWOOFing it in Sweden






Bataholms Gard, Laholm, Sweden

Results of WWOOFing, Week 1:
1 splendidly weeded potato patch
1 tar-painted wooden block 
15 kilos of honey
1 sheep pen
1 cleared sheep pasture
7 happy cows (the oreo kind)
1 sore old grandma
and 2 damn fine piles of wood




The sore old grandma, of course, is myself. Kind of like after going to the gym that first time, every day here I wake up and stumble my way through morning chores nursing the results of the previous day. I've been at Bataholms Gard for a full week and must say that I am pretty proud of my work, particularly my artful and impressive piles of wood. Down by the lake (yes, Bataholms Gard has half of a lake on its property which is the perfect temperature for swimming and is clean enough to drink from), I am working with two other WWOOFers to clear the area of trees and debris that fell during Sweden's winter storms. In a couple weeks, our hosts are going to bring the sheep down to pasture. By next year, grass will cover the area once blanketed with pine needles, carefully cleared and raked by yours truly.

Figure A: Wood Pile 1


Figure B: Wood Pile 2 (Now twice this size)

In any case, I am genuinely glad to be here. I had no idea what to expect, yet I cannot imagine getting luckier. To start, our hosts are both fabulous. I am potentially eating better than I have throughout my entire time in Europe and the accommodation is terrific. The WWOOFers live in a separate cottage on the farm with its own kitchen and bathroom. I have my own comfy bed to sleep in at night and I feel relatively safe. What's more, we are on the West Coast of Sweden, which means that if I get bitten by a tick (and I did, two days ago...wait, and also yesterday, and also today), I probably don't have to worry about my brain turning to mush from Tick-Borne Encephalitis. Those ticks, apparently, only hang out on the East Coast.

WWOOFing Accommodation


I could write a long post about every day here, but I suppose that's not what either of us wants to do (I write it, you read it). So, I suppose I'll describe the highlights. Every morning and evening, I circumnavigate the farm to walk out to the cows, where I then count them (hopefully there are 7), check the voltage in the electric fence (not with my bare hand--that's only happened a handful of times, once with my forehead), check the water tubs, and then check the pressure in the water pumps. That takes about 40 minutes. Then, I usually go down to the lake to clear the sheep pasture. I now have a slightly unhealthy obsession with piling wood, meaning I really want to get the pasture cleared before I leave. However, probably the most exciting thing I've done is some beekeeping. I got all dressed up in the astronaut suit, went out to the hives with Maria (one host), and took a few frames of honey. We pick the wax off with lice combs, then spin the frames in what looks like a really big colander. The pure honey collects on the sides of the basin and drains down, into a waiting bucket.

Gustav, Belinda, Ferdinand, Edvard, Olivia, Dick, and Gertrude 


On my day off, I biked with two other WWOOFers about 20 minutes into Laholm. We continued 20 minutes more from Laholm to the beach, where I partook of the scenic views and The Saltwater Cure. It was a fairly relaxing day, minus the part where I got separated from the group and lost a few times on the way back. Then, last night, I biked with the three other WWOOFers here to the festival grounds right outside of the village of Ysby, which is maybe only 10 minutes away. We had heard there was swing and traditional Swedish dancing. Yes, there was. Only it was a lesson and all of the instructions were in, surprise, Swedish! So we just kind of danced and did our own thing, and tried very hard not to bother the people around us.



Downtown Laholm