Exotic

366 challenge: 62 Exotic

This morning, I woke up to news headlines like "the city suffers arctic blast". Being Swedish I can't help but being a little bit amuzed by all the drama every time there is a cold spell around. I remember the first time I heard about these arctic conditions that was about to hit our city. It was in year 2000 and both O, my brother and I, switched on the news to hear about the terrible snowfall, only to be greeted by a News presenter standing at a supermarket parking lot surrounded with ca 1/2 inch (1.5cm) of snow, completely overexcited!

I realize that in a country where "winter wheels" (mandatory special wheels for your car, to be used during the coldest months) hardly exist, any degrees below zero is not to be taken lightly, but still. I can't help but giggle a little bit.

We didn't even notice this arctic blast. Apparently our city had it's first October snow in 74 years. I would have loved to see that, but we went to bed early to watch tv and slept with our window open all night *without noticing these arctic conditions* and this morning, I did my usual bare foot tip-toeing around our little garden patch.

Degrees below zero might be exotic to my fellow city residents, but to me, my garden palm tree is exotic.

Visiting the Police station

Pretty wooden houses in Uddevalla.

Sometimes the id-thing is the great thing about Sweden. A couple of years back, I was going to surprice O with a trip abroad on his birthday. It all backfired a bit as he couldn't find his passport. But, being Swedish and planning to go to Denmark, the police at Heathrow just phoned the border police in Denmark and asked if he could fly into Denmark on his Swedish ID. Yes, that was perfectly fine. We arrived in Copenhagen on Saturday, had dinner in the evening. Sunday morning we took the train over to Sweden and picked up a new passport at the police station, got back to Denmark and then flew home.

So when we noticed two weeks ago, that Cs passport expired last year in October, we weren't too worried. It went perfectly fine to travel to Sweden on it. Today we went to the police station in Uddevalla to get a new one. The lady police helping us with the new passport application wasn't too convinced that it was a straight forward thing.

"It says here that you have emmigrated. *and to make it even more obvious she adds:*

"In bold red!"

We assured her that since we are Swedish citizens our passports are not issued by anyone else than the Swedish authorities.

"Well, ok then..." and adds then: "But it might take over a week!"

We said: "ok, then we have to just do a temporary one, because we need it next weekend".

Faced with this fact the lady exclaims in horror: "And pay 1000SEK (70pounds) just for one trip??!!" *as if we were the worst money spending people on earth.*

"Well, if it takes over a week?"

"You can pick it up on Thursday!"

*Brilliant*

C found it very, very exciting to visit the police station. I think he was expecting "badies" chained up in the corners, so maybe a Swedish small town police station was a bit of a disappointment... We measured him and he was 111cm long (J was just 92 with shoes!) He had practiced his signature all the way there in the car, but didn't notice that he didn't have to sign the actual application.

C waiting to be served at the police station.

J equipped with some broschures about the police services in the area.

Conversation at the Supermarket

We have just moved to this new city. Or rather a big town compared to our last city.

When the removal van was loaded and hubbie (O) was about to drive off, he received a phone call. Afterwards he came to me and exclaimed: "We cannot move there!!"

"My goodness, what is it NOW", I thought, tired of all things going wrong with our move.

"I don't understand a word they say..."

Oh, only that. Haha! Easy peasy, that won't be a problem for ME, I thought very unsupportingly. Until my 3rd visit to the supermarket proved me wrong.

There was a very nice gentleman as cashier. He spoke with the military guy in front of me, who was meticulously lining everything up with millimeter precision on the till. (Fancy living with him, I though with a shudder (I am not the most tidy person in the world)). When it was my turn to be served, the nice man turned to me. I tried to focus on his strong accent to try to find the melody that breaks the code (if you only get the hang of when a word starts and finishes, you're not to bad off!) and at the same time tried to keep an eye on the children making balancing acts by the window, having grown tired of waiting in line with promises of chocolate if they only stood still..

Somehow the man managed to make me tell him I was Swedish. Oh, he had read a lot about the..*what is he saying?* ... Islands. How many different types of islands can there be in Sweden, surely I would be able to keep a general discussion going about this Swedish archipelago for the duration of packing my grocery bags? Yes, the fishermen there are fantastic men, ehum...very brave indeed. Just as I was about to put the last item in my bag, he asks: "which country do they really belong to? Is it Finland or Sweden?"

*I knew it! I am one of those people who can never EVER get away with the tiniest lie or misdoing*
"Ehum...what islands?" blushing now.
"Aland" Aha, Åland!! That's what he was talking about!!
Now he looks a bit confused.

Finland, I say before I rush off with children in tow. Why am I so incredibly inable to just nod and hum? Have to practice my nodding and humming. I think I will order online this week.