Ski Trip: The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

Facebook version, aka "The Good".

Over the weekend, we took a last-minute ski trip to Sälen, Sweden. Sälen is about 5 hours north of where we are and billed as "northern Europe's largest alpine ski area" ("alpine skiing" = downhill skiing; these are not the alps).

The red dot is Tjärnö, the blue dot is Sälen.
 We were east of Lillehammer, Norway (site of 1994 Winter Olympics).

Our resort consisted of four ski areas, linked by bus and ski trails. In addition to downhill skiing, they offered cross-country skiing, dog sledding, outdoor ice skating, and snowmobiling.

Sälen prides itself on being kid-friendly. The bunny slopes had little Smurf-like mushroom houses for kids to ski through. There was a kids' slalom course, a mini terrain park, and a run where trolls whisper to you as you go down. (They must whisper very quietly, because none of us heard them.) The girls took a private lesson with their friendly Swedish ski instructor, Gustav.

Valle is the name of the snowman mascot of the resort. He's everywhere.

The lifts were quite different from what we were used to. Most of them were button lifts, also called platter lifts.

An empty button lift.
Photo from www.livingnorth.com

Savannah riding one of the button lifts.

You grab the bar, shove it between your legs, and put the button behind your bottom. It pulls you up the mountain. They also have similar lifts with bar shaped like an upside down T.  You "sit" on one side of the T, or two people can go together. You don't really sit, you just lean on it and it pulls you up the mountain.

The view from the top! Worth it.

These lifts were an adventure in themselves. The bars often whipped around so fast that it was a challenge to get your hands on one before it passed by. Once you catch one, the ride is not always smooth. There are some jerks and slows, which makes it difficult to keep your balance. Both girls fell off these lifts at least once. Luckily, if you fall, you don't fall far, since you were never off the ground. Unluckily, someone is usually sliding up right behind you, so you have to move off to the side quickly!

Lots of empty runs on our first day.

Skiing this way, with the button and T-bar lifts, is exhausting. Effectively, you ski twice as much: up the mountain, then back down. You never get the little break of sitting on a chair lift in between runs. My knees were aching by the end of the first day.

I was surprised at how unsupervised the lifts were; it was noticeably different from the United States. Often, there was no attendant at the bottom of the lift at all. You had to get on all by yourself. If there was an attendant, they usually just stood off to the side. They would help the littlest kids, but that's it. At the exit, there was never an attendant. You were expected to let go of the bar and get off on your own. There was always an emergency stop button (helpfully labeled in Swedish, which I could only read because it's almost the same word in German).

At one of the lifts (an unattended chair lift), we saw a self-serve coffee station right at the entrance. A roadie for the ride! There was no cream or sugar, so I skipped it (you cannot drink the Swedish "scary coffee" without cream and sugar!). I can't imagine any US ski park offering this little perk.

We stayed at a lodge with individual apartments. It was surprisingly similar to our apartment in Tjärnö. The entry way, cleaning closet, and sink area looked almost exactly the same: same set-up, same equipment. Even many of the kitchen implements were exactly the same. Of course, it had all of the basic equipment (sliverware, plates, etc.) but they had the exact same mugs, the exact same cork pot stands, the exact same cheese slicer. I knew that Swedes are known to value conformity, but I did not know that it extended to household set up and goods.

Our little living room.

Our bedroom. Two twin beds, as usual!

The girls each had their own tiny room with bunks.

And, I could scarcely believe it, but our little apartment had a tiny, private sauna.

After a day on the slopes, to come home and sit in your own hot sauna? Amazing.

~

The Bad:

The drive.

The children complained about not being allowed to play on their iPads. They complained about not being warned in advance that they would not be allowed to play on their iPads. They complained about not having brought more things to do because they had assumed they could play on their iPads. Then they got carsick from playing on their iPads. It was a long drive.

The gear.

I arrived in snow boots whose tread had long worn out, and promptly slipped and fell on the ice. At the fancy ski store, I bought a pair of $90 boots (on sale!) which I don't like. I also arrived with child-sized gloves and was too stubborn and cheap to buy a new pair, so I just wore them.

The skiing.

Jeremy and Chelsea are ambitious and want to go to the top of every mountain. Savannah and I are cautious and want to stay on the bunny slope. Jeremy always urges us to go up higher and higher. There is much wailing and gnashing of teeth from Savannah. And me.

While the girls are in their lesson, Jeremy tries to take me on an epic adventure: skiing from one ski area to another. This involves taking a T-bar lift across the mountain. It's basically cross-country skiing for lazy people. Except that holding my body in the position the T-bar requires has my knees in agony. Just when we're about to crest a tiny ridge, and I think it's almost over, I see another long stretch of trail, and the end of the lift is nowhere in sight. There's no bailing out to simply ski down, because we're between ski areas. By the time we finally reach the end, I'm panting from the pain. It's all I can handle to ski straight down the mountain, where we have to catch a taxi to make it back to the ski area where we dropped off the girls, because there's no way I can do that long-distance T-bar again for the return trip. Poor Jeremy is cheated out of his two hours away from the kids, because he has to babysit me and my old-lady knees.

The next day, we split up. Jeremy and Chelsea head off to the highest heights, while Savannah and I keep it simple on the bunny slopes. Savannah and I take a break at a small cafe, for a hot drink. While carrying my coffee back to our table, I slip and fall. I make a giant coffee lake on the cafe floor.

We ask for cleaning supplies and receive a small stack of napkins.

I get down on my hands and knees, still wearing my ski boots, and slowly wipe up the coffee. Savannah gets more napkins. It takes me a long time. And a lot of napkins.

Of course, I start to cry.

Frustration. Humiliation. Exhaustion. The background stress of living in a country where you can't understand what anyone is saying or what any of the signs read. Being a rule-follower in a place where you can't figure out the rules. It wears on me.

I had a hard time pulling myself back together. My child had to comfort me, and that only upset me further.

I walked around the rest of the time in the cafe in my socks, too afraid of falling again.

Finally, we met up with Jeremy and Chelsea and went home for lunch. When it was time to leave the apartment, I slipped and fell YET AGAIN and it was all just too much. Another round of tears, but at least this time Jeremy was there to hug me and help me calm down.

My instinct was just to give up. Stay home. Sit in the apartment and watch Netflix while everyone else went skiing. But I didn't want to set that example for my kids. Didn't want to let my emotions get the better of me. Didn't want to spend my time in Sweden sitting inside, not doing anything.

So I went back out. And it was fine.

The apartment.

Our neighbors had a 3am Swedish dance party that involved noisy sing-alongs, stomping on the floor, and loud music (the only song we recognized? La Bamba.). We did not have the phone number for the reception, which was not located in our building.

Our sauna was broken.

We had a cleaning list for check out that was a mile long, but the place wasn't fully stocked. We had to sweep, with no broom. We had to wash linens, with no detergent. We had to clean every surface, with no paper towels.

Savannah got sick at 2am, covering herself and her bed in vomit. Did I mention that the apartment had no paper towels? Or detergent? I won't go into the gory details, but there was much disgusting cleaning happening in the middle of the night.

The Ugly Truth:

There was arguing. There was yelling. There was really bad communication. There was lots and lots and lots of crying (approximately 90% of it mine). And then we got in the car to drive 5 hours to get home. *grand sigh*

~

Conclusions.

The Facebook version is real, but incomplete. So is the bad and the ugly. The reality is that all of these versions happened at once. Although it often felt like these competing versions were taking turns.

Lessons learned:

1. Sign children up in advance for morning ski lessons.

2. When you need new shoes, just buy them.

3. Always put a lid on your coffee.

Swedish Swimmers

Today, after our new normal morning (breakfast at home, homeschool in the white building, bus into town), we headed to our local pool.

Photo from: http://gfx.dagbladet.no/labrador/209/209700/20970019/jpg/active/978x.jpg

The pool is located in a building that also houses a gym, a spa, and a salon. It cost us 160 kronor (or about $18) for a two hour admission to the pool.

Photo from http://www.svenskeporten.no/userimages/logotyp445.gif

In the women's locker room, the girls balked at the idea of changing in front of other people (although they've done this numerous times at the Y at home). They crouched down low in a corner, stealthily and speedily changing into their suits, unlike the old Swedish lady who happily chatted us up while nude.

Next stop, the shower room. There were lots of rules and signs posted all around (I surreptitiously took photos before we left for googling later) including rules on the door of yet another sauna! Between my girls' strong reaction to our previous sauna and my inability to decipher any of the rules guiding its use, I decided against trying it today. We rinsed off and headed to the pool.

The pool room overlooks Strömstad harbor; the wall facing it is largely glass. Stylish chairs fill the space between windows and pool. There's also a small cafe called "Fika" which is what the Swedes call their mid-morning and mid-afternoon coffee break.

The pool itself is decent-sized, filled with salt water, and heated to a reasonable 28 degrees C (about 82 F). When we first arrived, a few older folks swam laps. Afraid of disturbing them and unsure of the norms, I didn't let the girls use any of the mountains of pool equipment that lined the walls. Eventually, Chelsea couldn't resist the lure of the slide and the diving platforms and asked a staff member, who gave her the go-ahead.

I still refused to let the girls use any of the floating things in various shapes and sizes, thinking that they were meant for swim lessons. Until another kid showed up. And proceeded to drag every piece of equipment he could get his hands on into the pool. The girls rolled their eyes at me (sassy teenagers in the making!) and got busy playing with all of the stuff I had denied them.

As we swam, I overheard a little boy speaking Spanish. He took off his floatie and said, "Mommy, I'm not using the thing. I can swim!" I noticed how easily I had understood him compared to the Swedish-speaking children whose language might as well have been gibberish for all I could understand of it.

I swam over to the boy's mom, and we had a nice little conversation in Spanish. My Spanish is terrible, but it's light years beyond my Swedish. My only Swedish sentence so far: "Vi behöver mer tid." (We need more time.) Recommended for use in restaurants and cafes with indecisive children.

On our way back to the locker room, we passed the kiddie pool: a shallow, mini-pool with little water spouts and colorful decor. We dipped our toes in to check the temperature, and it was noticeably warmer than the main pool. "That's ok," one of my girls said, "The baby pool is always warmer because it's mostly pee."

Next time, I'm gonna see if I can sit in the stylish chairs, drink coffee from Fika, and enjoy the view while my children play with all 8 million pool toys. And then we're going in the sauna.

The White Building

Today was our first official day of homeschooling. We decided to work in the building next door, which is helpfully called "the white building." It's just a stone's throw from our house.

We studied in one of the common rooms.

View from the balcony of the common room.

The white building is mostly dorms for visiting researchers and students. It's pretty empty now, but will fill up as the weather improves. Because it's meant for long-term housing, it has some amenities that we also enjoy.

Laundry room in the white building.

Like laundry. Well, I won't say that I enjoy laundry, but I do enjoy this laundry room more than our little one. Two washers and a dryer (a vast improvement over a drying rack in my living room). There were pictures on the washing machine telling me how to use it, which is the only reason that we have clean clothes now.

The drying room. Why yes, those are my clothes!

Apparently, the Swedes are very serious about hanging clothes to dry. Next to the washing machine room, there is an entire room devoted to drying clothes. There are wires strung across the room and that machine on the table somehow heats up the room? But not really, because it's never really hot in there? I can't understand it, because the sign that explains it IS IN SWEDISH.

Motionsrum, aka the gym, and its excellent ping pong table.

Found in the gym: an old Twisted Sister CD and a mix of "Fidde Cents".

Finally, the best part about the white building. I can't actually believe that this dormitory, with its industrial laundry center and funky old gym, has this and yet... BEHOLD:

What's behind this door?

A sauna!

Yes. The while building has a sauna. How very Swedish! We took the children to try it out a few days ago, and you would have thought we were torturing them. I tried to explain that a sauna is a special treat, part of a spa day, and it's meant to be relaxing. Both girls sat on the floor, to be as low and cool as possible (ok, it WAS 140 degrees in there). There were shrieks and hands over faces when we poured water over the hot rocks. Jeremy and I sat up high on the top step and soaked up the fact that this is a massive perk of living at the lab.

And? This is one of TWO saunas at the Lovén Center. There's another one we haven't found yet, closer to the water. You know, in case you go diving in the frigid ocean and you need to unfreeze your blood again when you get out.

I'm dreaming of sending the girls out for "recess" while I go sit in a sauna. Homeschooling, Swedish style!

One Snowy Day in Strömstad

Today was the first day that both girls were healthy enough to ride the bus into town. Up early, we stepped outside into several inches of fresh snow. Once again, the girls delighted in the novelty of it.

We said goodbye to Jeremy and caught the 7:41am bus into town. We were surprised to see kids riding the city bus to school unaccompanied.

In town, we dashed into the nearest cafe (one of the few places open at 8am) to eat breakfast. Savannah and I chose the buffet. It was not nearly as fancy as the Gothenburg feast, but still more than enough: bread, butter, cheeses, meats, hard-boiled eggs, cereal, muesli, milk, yogurt, and a little bite of pastry. Chelsea had thin Swedish pancakes served with whipped cream and jam. The coffee (as always here) was dark, strong, and unlimited. I may never sleep again.

Chelsea enjoying her pannkakor!

After breakfast, the town still mostly closed, we stopped at another cafe (with wifi!) above our favorite grocery store. Chelsea and Savannah had the little children's play area to themselves. We stayed until the shops began to open.

First stop: shoe store. Chelsea's snow boots somehow managed not to make it to Sweden. She has been wearing her rain boots, although her feet are nearly bursting out of them. Today we got her a pair of good, waterproof boots. As the Swedes say, "There is no bad weather, only bad clothes."

Chelsea's new serious Swedish winter-survival boots.

Only the high prices and the prospect of carrying new shoes around town all day prevented me from buying myself winter boots and ridiculously fancy slippers. I may need to go back. Possibly more than once.

We stopped at the local pool to ask about swimming and discovered that the school kids swim there daily. Now we know where those groups of kids parading through the town were going! Not on a field trip in sub-zero temperatures... Swimming!

Outside the local pool, we found a a small playground. On this snowy Monday, we were the only people there.

At the playground next to the pool.

Trying to make snow angels in not-deep-enough snow.

We wrapped up our outing with lunch at Mellow Cafe (fabulous, delicious, and way too expensive to become a habit), a grocery run (who doesn't need more milk?), and a quick stop at the toy store for two sleds and one pair of poo emoji slippers.

She's a fan.

Because if you haven't got poo emoji slippers, you haven't got anything.

Snow Day!

We awoke this morning to this, outside our kitchen window.

I could get used to sitting on the couch, reading a book, sipping coffee, and watching the snow fall.

After getting bundled up, we went outside to explore a bit. There was some snowball throwing, attempted snowman building, and snow hiking.

The girls' first few steps outside the house.

Here's our little house. The red paint is classic Sweden.

We didn't last very long outside, and the snow wasn't very deep. We have snow gear, because we hoped to go skiing somewhere while we're here. I hadn't realized before we arrived that it would snow here. Quite a novelty for these SoCal kids!

Home Swede Home

Where are we, exactly?

First, we are in Sweden. Not Switzerland. Sweden is in Northern Europe, it's part of Scandinavia, in between Norway and Finland. We are on the west coast of Sweden. The capital, Stockholm, is on the east coast. Sweden is about the same size as California. The part of Sweden that we are in is located at about 60 degrees north latitude. That's farther north than all of the United States (except parts of Alaska) and most of Canada.

Photo from http://geology.com/world/sweden-map.gif

The nearest town is Strömstad. It has a population of about 6,000 people, so it's very small compared to San Diego (population of over 1 million). Strömstad is a seaside town. It's known as a vacation spot in summer, but in winter, it's cold and quiet. Strömstad is about halfway between Oslo, Norway (to the north) and Gothenburg, Sweden (to the south). They are both about 2 hours away by car.

Here's a typical street in Stömstad.
Photo from https://mw2.google.com/mw-panoramio/photos/medium/960357.jpg

We are living in Tjärnö. As far as I can tell, Tjärnö is not a town. It's an island. There is not much here. There are a few houses, one church, a small school, and the Sven Lovén Center, which is where we are staying. The Lovén Center is a research lab affiliated with the University of Gothenburg. There are science labs, offices, meeting rooms, dorms and apartments for visiting scientists, a small cafeteria, a small gym (with a sauna!), and an aquarium.

This is a view of the Lovén Center in summer.
Photo from http://loven.gu.se/digitalAssets/1335/1335776_tj--rn--.jpg

Getting to Tjärnö is a bit of an adventure. The drive from Strömstad takes you along a narrow, winding road. For much of the way, the road has no street lights, no bike lane, and no sidewalk. It's wide enough for two cars to pass each other in opposite directions, but just barely. And there's no line down the middle of the road to help you stay on your side. This road at night looks like the setting of a horror movie: dark, isolated, scary.

This road also takes you over at least two other islands on the way from Tjärnö to Strömstad. In both cases, the road goes over a single-lane bridge. At each end of the bridge is a stop light, letting you know when it's your turn to cross. There are wooden railings on both sides, to prevent you from driving off into the water far below. Every time I cross over these bridges, I'm reminded of the Universal Studios tour, and the old bridge that would "break" when you were halfway across. I'm not a fan of these bridges.

At the Lovén Center, we're staying in a one-bedroom apartment, the ground floor of a house on the lab's grounds. It looks like it was furnished entirely from IKEA, because it likely was. The girls have twin beds in the bedroom, and Jeremy and I also have twin beds, which are in the living room.

The girls' bedroom.

Jeremy's bed and my bed.

Our kitchen is an upgrade from our kitchen at home. It's much larger and has a dishwasher, which we don't have in San Diego. Our laundry room is nice, but we share it with our upstairs neighbor. The washing machine is very small and very slow. Our dryer is a giant box, the size and shape of a refrigerator, with racks inside to hang clothes on. We think it is supposed to heat up, but it does not. While waiting for it to be fixed, we have resorted to hanging all of our clothes out to dry. I miss my extra large dryer at home.

Our IKEA kitchen, with a door out to a patio where our neighbor's cat sometimes sits.

Thumbs down, Sweden. Clothes-drying rack in the living room.
Also, see our TV? Haha, that's just a picture of an owl on the wall where a TV should be.

Finally, a few words about our shower. It's is about the size of a phone booth, which makes our bathtub-size shower at home feel spacious by comparison. Water goes onto the tiled floor and down the drain. We were sure it would flood the entire bathroom, but the water mostly stays in place. We used the squeegee meant to dry the shower doors to coax some of it back toward the drain. Definitely different from what we're used to at home.

The bathroom, and our small and interesting shower. 

And there it is. Home, sweet home! For the next six months, anyway.

Hospital Day in Gothenburg

When you go online and complain about jet lag, the universe responds in a way designed to remind you of your relative good fortune.

The universe replies, "I see your jet lag, and I raise you one stomach virus." (It helps if you imagine the universe speaks with a Russian accent. Or is that just me?)

Chelsea was the first unlucky victim of this karmic retribution. After she and I spent most of the night in the hotel bathroom, I decided she needed to see a doctor. Our traveler's assistance program (thank you, SDSU!) provided the name of a local hospital. All four of us piled into our rental car to make the drive to the Sahlgrenska Sjukhuset (that second word literally means "the sick house"). Driving there was a bit stressful. It's always tricky navigating strange streets when you can't understand any of the street signs. Add to that a child puking her guts out in the backseat, and it made for a tense ten minutes.

When we got there, Chelsea and I went into what we guessed was the emergency room, only to find no one there to speak with. There were a few folks waiting and many signs in Swedish. Finally, someone gestured to a "take a number" machine. We took a number and sat down to wait. Every so often, the next number was announced over a loud speaker and a nurse would emerge from a locked door to collect the next person. We could not understand the spoken numbers, but luckily they were also shown on a screen.

I was relieved when our number finally came up. We walked toward the nurse, who spoke to us in Swedish, and then some minimal English to ask what was wrong. Before we could make it to the exam room she said, "Oh, you are in the wrong place. This hospital is for adults only. You need to go to the..." and then she said a bunch of words we could not understand in Swedish.

It was at this point that I sank to the floor and started to cry.

Jeremy had come by this point, so he took over. He got the name of the children's hospital, and figured out how to get there. I cried most of the way to the children's hospital, out of frustration and exhaustion.

At the children's hospital, we started the routine over again. Entered a large waiting room, with a bunch of signs telling us what to do... that we could not read. At least there was a person who spoke (limited) English at the desk, but she told us to take a number and wait for our turn to speak with her.

When we finally were called, we spoke to a nurse who sent us to sit in a special waiting area: the kräkas och diarre room: the vomit and diarrhea room. We spent all day in there, trying to get Chelsea to keep down some electrolyte solution, but she just barfed everything up.

Savannah made a few excursions out of the room. First, she went with me to the hospital "cafeteria". It was really more of a counter than a cafeteria. Maybe 6 feet long, with a few sandwiches, pastries, and drinks. Coffee, of course. They had a little seating area, sort of like a very small little IKEA dining area. We were starving, since we hadn't eaten anything since dinner the previous night and it was about noon by this point.

When I paid for our food with a credit card, the cashier asked for my "personal number." Like a PIN? I asked, Four digits? No. She explained that every Swede has a personal number they are given at birth. I thought maybe my social security number? She said, no. It has ten digits. At this point, I was thoroughly baffled. Finally, she used my birth year, month, day, and the last four digits of my SSN, and I guess that worked. At least now I know what my Swedish personal number is, I guess?

Finally, around 5pm, the nurses gave Chelsea some anti-emetic (aka "stop barfing") medicine. And we were released a little after 6pm.

Our grand plans of exploring Gothenburg didn't work out the way we'd hoped. Guess that means we'll just have to go back another time.