Ratatouille

Melanie taught us how to make Ratatouille!There was zucchini...

and tomatoes and peppers...

and parsley and onions...

Mmm! It smelled so good!

And it tasted good too!

A Mop and some Ajax

I had noticed the smell for a few days now, and I’m pretty sure my flatmates had too. Each time we opened the cupboard doors beneath the sink a horrible smell would waft to our noses. Melanie equated it to cat urine. It reminded me of the smell coming from our freezer in the Philippines the time a typhoon took our power out for two weeks straight. For about two days now I’d been meaning to take out the garbage, but somehow I just never found the time. I think Melanie and Angelika had the same intentions, and each time we opened that cupboard door we were reminded of the fact that no one had put their thoughts into actions. If my roommates were thinking like I was, they were both hoping that someone else would get fed up with it and take it out first.

This afternoon, as I walked into the flat after class, I noticed two big paper bags full of garbage and recycling sitting in our entryway. Yeah, I really need to take those out, I’ll take them when I make my Willy’s run I thought. I walked back to my room to unload my books and paused to say hi to Melanie.

“Sometime, when you have time Bonita, would you help me take the recycling out?” She asked.

“Of course! Just let me know when you want to!” I replied.

An hour later we were bundled up and gathering the bags in the entryway. I stuffed some old newspapers into one of the two paper bags and then picked them both up. Melanie held the two plastic bags and went to get the door. As I turned to walk out after Melanie I noticed a trickle of brown juice trailing from one of my paper bags and I stopped. I looked at Melanie and she rushed out the door. Okay, we’re going to make a mad dash and leave a trail down the stairs. This’ll work…if I hurry. I hadn’t even finished my first step towards the door again when the bottom fell out of the paper bag and the contents of it lay sprinkled on the floor beside me. I looked at Melanie, not sure what to do, and laughing, she quickly went and got a new bag which we put the garbage in. Then we hurried out the door and down to the recycling before any more mishaps could happen.

When we got back to the flat I noticed Melanie and I had two very different ways of tackling the nasty smell that had begun to overtake our home. Melanie went for the mop to clean up the puddles while I opened a couple windows and lit all the candles I could find. Don’t worry though, that’s not my solution to every cleaning issue! After I’d lit the candles, I went to that kitchen sink and opened those lousy cupboards that won’t close properly, pulled out some gloves, Ajax and a sponge and attacked the original source of that lousy smell. Between the two of us, that flat was pretty close to being completely rid of the odor by the time Angelika came home to find a damp, but clean, floor and candles lit everywhere.

And somehow, this garbage juice escapade put me in a great mood and made me feel that much closer to Melanie. They say you bond through hardships...

Now we can throw our trash away without choking on the gag reflex. Perhaps this time we’ll learn.

Candle Light

Isn’t it amazing how sounds can carry a person back in time at a moment’s notice? The other night I was sitting at my computer working on a paper. Only my desk lamp was on and an orange and cinnamon flavoured candle burned on my coffee table behind me. I started hearing some crackling noises coming from the table and turned to stare at the candle. Suddenly I was back in Bolinao, sitting with the family around the dining room table. Mom had a book in her hand and Nathan on her lap. Her right hand absentmindedly scratched Nathan’s head as her left held the book she was reading by candle light during the brownout. A nearly empty bowl of popcorn sat near Dad who was methodically chewing on the old maids. Two glass one liter coke bottles sat on the Lazy Susan and tupperware glasses in puddles of condensation sat in front of each person. Seven dice sat silent beside one of the glasses and the scorecard and pencil lay next to another, just close enough that the corner of the paper was damp. The boys were playing with the wax from a few of the candles, re-melting it in the flame and watching the pool overflow and drip down the sides, silently dipping their fingers in the hot puddles to make imprints. The candle light cast a soft glow on everyone’s faces, reddened by the expedition to the beach that afternoon, as each stared quietly into the candles’ flames as their souls flew to Narnia with Eustace and Lucy. It’s amazing to me how one simple sound can carry such strong memories.

Gränna och Visingsö

A group of us went to Gränna, a town about an hour north of us on the lake. We live at the southern end of the lake Vattern, one of the longest lakes in Sweden. Visingsö is an island in the middle of the Vattern which is directly across from Gränna. Legend has it that a troll wishing to cross the Vattern couldn't quite make it in one step, so he created Visingsö by putting clods of dirt in the middle of the lake until an island was formed. Then he was able to pass. My great-great grandmother was born just outside of Gränna!

Gränna is famous for its peppermint candy. When you go into a lot of the stores, you can actually see them making it!

A medieval church on Visingsö.


Cecile and Kate.

Laura, me, and Miri.

In the candy store.

Yum.

The whole gang on the bus to Gränna.

I'm sorry, but I really liked this dog! He was on the ferry next to me heading out to Visingsö. I named him Alfred.

This is a door in the fortress wall. It reminded me a bit of Alice in Wonderland, but I'm not entirely sure why.

Miri, Kate and Cecile.

Castle ruins on Visingsö.

Göteberg (aka Gothenburg)

A group of us went to Göteberg in late September to play tourist while the weather was still decent. It was quite the busy day, but a lot of fun!

A fancy church.

Laura showing off the amazing bathroom facilities on the bus.

Bartus attempting to keep his head safe as we went under "the cheese cutter."



The bridge that's commonly known as "the cheese cutter."

Ryan (Canada) and Michael (Germany) on the bus.
Me (USA).

Laura (USA) and Bartus (Germany).

At the bus station they had these costumes made almost entirely out of flowers on display! They were pretty cool.

We got off the bus to realize that the guys planning the trip really had no idea what we were going to do. We literally just started walking.

The public restroom. You pay two kroner to get in and it automatically cleans it when you're done!

At the universeum.

Visiting Cederholms the first weekend here

I went to southwestern Sweden and visited the Cederholms, some friends from the Philippines. It was Aunt MariAnne's birthday so I got to help out with that and experience some Swedish culture.

Uncle Rune explaining how one marriage and three kids equals five at Aunt MariAnne's 50th birthday.

The view towards the lake at the Cederholm farm.

A traditional Swedish sandwich called SMÖRGÅSTÅRTA which means "sandwich cake." Definately eaten more like a cake than a sandwich!

The Cederholm family.

Strawberry fields.

This is a drink called "Ful Mast" or something, generally drunk around Christmas and Easter, hence the Santa. It reminded me of lysol, but I think the flavour could grow on me...

Aunt MariAnne watching her daughters sing at her 50th birthday party.

The Great Post Office Adventure

The dubious look on the bus driver’s face as he opened the door and stared at us spoke volumes more than his words could ever have. There before him, waiting to step onto the bus, stood two very wet girls with eyes sparkling and umbrellas closed. Their jeans were wet up to their knees and their messenger bags had evidence of the rain that had been pouring down so hard just a few minutes earlier. The questions in his eyes remained there as the girls swiped their cards and found a seat in the nearly empty vehicle and in silence he continued on his route.

I don’t think Laura knew what type of adventure she was getting into when she responded positively to my request for companionship on my search for the Jönköping Post Office. I didn’t really know what we were getting into either, so I claim innocence. All I knew was that there was a FedEx letter floating somewhere around in the city that, since I hadn’t been at home that morning wouldn’t get to me until Monday if I was lucky, unless I went out and tracked it down myself. So I called the number on the FedEx slip that had been left under my door and the lady told me to go to my town’s post office to pick up the letter when the truck returned there after it finished its delivery. I asked my flat mate where the post office was and received a blank look. I asked google where the post office was and received nothing. Determined, I folded the slip and shoved it into the pocket of my jacket, then traipsed down to the local parcel pick-up in Råslätt but they didn’t know where the post office was either! They did however, have a phone number. So I gratefully accepted the number and proceeded to call them on my cell phone. The automated lady on the other end spoke only Swedish and pushing 0 did nothing. I returned to the parcel pick-up feeling defeated. The man behind the counter took my FedEx slip from me and dialed the number on the folded piece of paper. He said a few quick words to the person on the other end and then handed the phone to me. This time the lady told me she would find out where I should go to get my letter and then call me back. I returned to my room and awaited the phone call. About two hours later it came. “Verktygsvägen 19” the lady told me, “you can pick your package up at that address until 17.30.” 17.30, that gave me about two and a half hours. I looked the address up and found the road. It was just off the bus #3 route in a wooded area. I had seen people get off there before and had wondered what lay behind the trees. It was the type of stop that could easily have had a ghost story attached to it, with the lonely Verktygsvägen road working its way up the hill, shrouded by trees on each side.

I whipped out my phone and texted Laura, “wanna go on an adventure?” Whew! I had a companion. By the time we got onto the bus the sky had been drizzling for quite a while and a bit of a wind had picked up. We climbed off the bus at our stop and began working our way up the hill, grateful for our umbrellas. About a third of the way up the hill was a cross street. This was the street google had pinpointed for us, so we took a left and began working our way down it. The rain was coming down harder and the wind made our umbrellas almost useless. We made it ¾ of the way down the street when we realized we were definitely not going to find Verktygsvägen 19 anywhere on it. Having seen post office trucks coming up the hill, we knew it had to be somewhere!

We returned to the first road and continued our trek up the hill. A sign in front of us indicated that indeed, there should be a post office up that way somewhere, and the trucks that kept passing us gave some reassurance. Even though we had that reassurance, the loneliness of the road seemed a bit strange. There was no sidewalk. Just the road amongst the trees, like we were going to some secret hide away. We passed a stack of logs and through an opening we could see a field planted with…grass? Maybe they hadn’t planted that year. The occasional car passing us gave second glances as we trudged up the blacktop, useless umbrellas in hand, with the water seeping up our pant legs. Had we been thinking earlier we may have rolled them up and thus avoided a few of the questions in the bus driver’s eyes later on, but we were students on an adventure and didn’t think ahead too often.

Finally we reached a gate that had a picture of a surveillance camera on it. Ahead was what looked like a big shipping dock where multiple companies had their warehouses. One of the sections of the building had the now familiar emblem of the national post office painted on it. We eagerly sloshed towards it and pulled the door open, a little worried we’d be thrown out. Inside was a glass case with random post office things in it. Could we buy a post office sweatshirt here? That’d be pretty cool! Other than a flight of stairs and another door, nothing else was in the room except for the grey painted walls. Voices were coming from upstairs so we began making our way towards them, still wondering if we were really supposed to be there. A man started down the stairs still talking to his friend on the second floor. He saw us standing there and looked a bit surprised. “Are you looking for something?” “I was told I could pick up a package here?” The words were barely out of my mouth when he was continuing down the stairs and with a wave of his hand directed us to follow him (I think they had been warned about me). We were led back to the main floor and through that door next to the glass case, into a huge warehouse with carts all over holding packages from all who knows where! So this was what the back of a post office looks like! I wished I'd brought my camera. I gave him my FedEx slip which was now looking somewhat forlorn and he went to a cart and pulled out a package “Bonita Persons?” he asked. Yay! I signed the slip and he handed me a very flat FedEx envelope. What treasures did it hold? I thanked the guy and we headed back out into the wet world. Secretly I’d been hoping someone would have pity on the two bedraggled girls wandering around where they obviously weren’t supposed to and would offer to drive us back down to the foot of the hill to await the next bus. No such luck. Perhaps it was safer that way anyhow.

The walk back down the hill went much faster than the walk up. Perhaps it’s because we now knew where we were going. Perhaps it’s because we were walking downhill instead of up. Or perhaps it was because we wanted to get back to dry land and out of the rivers that were washing down the hill around our feet, but soon we found ourselves back where we had begun. And no ghosts had come out of the woods to frighten us or to steal my package. Now all we had to deal with was the startled bus driver as we scrambled onto the bus. As we settled into the seats I glanced up and caught him looking in the mirror above his seat at us. I almost wondered if he was going to make us stand up so we wouldn’t get the seat wet. Perhaps we were breaking some cultural norm but at the moment we really didn’t care (and still don’t).

And that is the great post office adventure. Was it worth it? Yes of course! Laura and I now have a fun story to tell! And I got my package.