The World of a Nomad

Okay, it is not Valentine’s Day but I found this in my old draft of posts and figured better to published four months late than at Christmas. You might enjoy the you tube videos too. =)

This is the first year I noticed less Valentine’s Day commercials and cheesy decorations in the stores. Maybe I am not the only one who’s tired of seeing greeting cards vomiting hearts, teddy bears, and roses. Why is Valentine’s Day such a big holiday in America? Do women really want red roses, chocolates, and jewelry? Or do corporations entice the women to love them? And how are men seduced to buy gifts in the hope of getting laid?

And for kicks, here is a samplings of terrible advertisements:
http://youtube.com/watch?v=jv0PvyxXocA

http://youtube.com/watch?v=Ifw_qJOCnQI

http://youtube.com/watch?v=ch1AbFirZDY

http://youtube.com/watch?v=1uwl5So30mw

It is a mantra I hear from many girls, even Swedish expatriate girls. A greater oxymoron could not be found; to find a Swedish boy…I must *not* look in Sweden? Yes, that is the theory. From all the women I know that have Swedish boyfriends, none of them meet them in Sweden. These Swedes were studying, traveling, working abroad when the women encountered them. Why is that? Why is it so hard to meet a Swede in Sweden *and* stick together.

Some ideas…
When in Rome. It is the case for any person removed out of his natural environment to attempt to blend with the new one. It is a tricky situation cross blending the traditional environment (the one in which he grew up) and the new one. Most Swedes I met in the US were extremely open and friendly. They wanted to meet others, travel, and integrate into American society. At parties, I would notice they would chat up girls, flirt, and if they really pushed themselves, obtain a phone number.

Alter egos. Moving or traveling to a new place allows one to change his persona. What better way to start a new life then to be someone where no one knows you. In societies that encourage individuality, this is the perfect wayto recreate yourself. Didn’t hit on girls in bars before because your friends would laugh their asses off? Those friends aren’t here now, so do what you want.

Exoticism. Face it, the gender you are interested in your home country gets boring after a while. Seeing a lifetime of blonds or brunettes is tiring. In a new place, the native folks are now the exotic ones. It is probably a reason why British girls dig Swedish boys, Swedish boys dig Italian girls, and Italian girls dig American boys (okay maybe not true for these particular cultures but you get the point).

What does this have to do with the Swedish boys? They seem to flourish out of their native environment. A short respite from an egalitarian, equality controlled world. Whether they are in the US or France or Brazil, their new world is nothing like Sweden. They are probably more confident to do things previously never thought of before. And since, a Swede in the US is not an American in the US, they provide the exotic factor too.

The question to all the ladies out there then, how did you meet your Swede? where? who made the moves?

And for the Swedish boys out there, how did you end up with a foreign partner? And if you’re completely offended by my thoughts, I would love to hear your rants. =)

An unintended consequence of finding a Swede and sticking to him, is having a monogamous relationship. The Swede I met in the US, Porbjorn, has decided we should stick together. Adorable, very endearing, shy, he is a perfect a little Swedish specimen. The problem now arises that I can no longer flirt with the Swedes, Danes, Norwegians, or any boy that crosses my path. I told him it was in the name of research, for all woman out there looking for some enlightenment on the Swedish man. His response: “pfft.” We argued and argued and I gave in, realizing the blog fodder will eventually center around him. I kept quiet and smirked. What could be more fun than the exploits of your sweetpie?

So now, I present the Swedish specimen, Porbjorn. =)

What to know about the Swede, part 1:

Housewife…househusband. If you tell him to go do the dishes, he goes. No arguing, no whining, it is equality in the house. Same for laundry and other household matters.

Hold my hand. I’m not for holding hands while I sleep. It is too encroaching. The first few times Porbjorn held my hand, I was annoyed, really annoyed. I got used to it and now, I look for his hand at night.

Cuddling. He said cuddling is a really important part of sex. He finds it amusingly stupid that American men ‘turn around’ and try to ignore the women talking after sex. He believes cuddling is the solution, “why not cuddle after some strenuous activities?” Don’t think I would hear an American man say that.

The Ex factor. Porbjorn and I went to chic restaurant in the city and ended up on what many women consider the worst conversation topic ever: the ex. Strangely, it was not horrible. I asked and he openly answered everything. Why women fear learning about an ex (especially a long term one) and men cringe at answering questions is beyond my comprehension. So be prepared to learn about the ex and don’t fear it.

More to come about those funny Swedes!

Yes it seems strange to call Swedes rude but it is true when certain conditions are met.

Condition one: In a bar. People will push throw the crowds without ever uttering the words förlåt (sorry). Even if you are lucky to find a place with a table to put your drink down, you can bet some girl or guy will push from behind to overtake your spot. I had the experience of having a jackass spill wine (thankfully white) on my Burberry coat while at the bar. I poked him in the side, since he stood at a whooping 190cm, and told him I wanted napkins because he spilled wine on me. He was annoyed and irritated and in a condescending manner, apologized.

Condition two: On the street. Cars will just stop for you, few inches shy of stripping your soul out. People will walk straight into you or push you to the side; no apologies needed.

Condition three: In a restaurant. Tipping? Does not exist. With that in mind, don’t expect much in the way of service. I have not experienced bad service (maybe because I am foreign) but stellar service definitely is lacking.

Condition four: Alcohol. Need I say more?

Condition five: On the train. You will get smashed; just hope the people nearby are wearing decent deodorant. You do not need to talk to the people around you, ever. Until the train comes to a crashing halt, your train compartment neighbors are invisible.

I’ve been on a long hiatus from the blog and I apologize to everyone who does follow me on a regular basis. I have been traveling around Scandinavia and the US and finally am recomposing my thoughts for some new, interesting posts.

I noticed there are some Swedish men who follow this blog and as women (Swedish or otherwise), we are curious as to how your side of the species flirts. Some are general questions…some very specific.

Do Swedish men give compliments randomly to women? If not, are they trying to hit on the girls?

Do you think women should hit on men or vice versa?

Do you celebrate Valentine’s day? Why or why not?

Do people flirt in public? On the train, at the store, etc…

What are signs of flirtatious behavior?

Why do men need to be on the verge of blacking out to hit on women?

Does the ‘player’ culture exist?

What do you expect to happen on a first date? (not a first encounter, if that was the case)

Are Swedish women really that boring? Or are the Swedish men really that boring?

I’ve been trying to come up with something to post about this week and life hasn’t been exciting. I thought however we would revisit Þórbjörn, the little swede I met in the US. We had a discussion about meeting someone in a bar in Sweden versus the US. Here are the conversations (edited to make sense).

The explanation of wingmen in American culture:
Þórbjörn: wingman ??
me: o m g
Þórbjörn: hey, i am from sweden!!
me: in fighter plane scenarios
there’s always a leader whose goal is to hit the main target
his wingmen (flying behind him in formation)
deal with enemy fire
Þórbjörn: haha
me: that’s real air force
in social situations it’s similar
Þórbjörn: so if i want my friend to hook up with a girl, i need to be his wingman?
me: well yes, but it’s an art
you have a lead pilot, usually an alpha male
he’s the most charismatic, friendly, and cunning with women
he’ll always have one or two male friends
those are wingmen
Þórbjörn: haha
me: those guys entertain the target’s female friends
the wingmen also soften the women up by being cute, silly, more romantic
during that confusion
the leader takes his target
Þórbjörn: so extreamly american…
me: hahaha, how so?
Þórbjörn: sounds very american

The Swedish way:
Þórbjörn:my friends in sweden never worked in that way
me: how does it work?
Þórbjörn: how did it work? oh, hot girl, i will go for her, screw you guys
me: oh yah, i was told guys have no problems ditching their friends
Þórbjörn: of course not…you can’t have sex with your friends
me: what about us and how we met?
Þórbjörn: our dating seemed very swedish to me… meet at a bar, have sex, start hanging out, have more sex =)
oh, and one woman at the time… that is complicated enough for me

How to talk to girl in the American bar:
What you do as a male who finally made it past enemy fire and has the target in range.
Þórbjörn: so what would I have done if I was an American?
me: first off, we wouldn’t have never made it to my place b/c i would have expected you to hit on me
and buy me drinks
and flirt and be cute
Þórbjörn: and then?
me: we probably would not have gone home together that night but rather exchanged numbers
maybe make out in the bar
Þórbjörn: that sounds utterly boring
me: LOL
then you would have called me a few days later and ask me out for dinner
Þórbjörn: why can’t you do that?
me: chivalry my friend, male chivalry
Þórbjörn: crazy americans

I met a little swede a few months ago while I was still living in the US and for the one time in my life, I made a move on him. He was already living in the states for the past eight months but, that really doesn’t change swedish ways; especially male swedish mating ways.

So the backstory: I went to the Scandinavian happy hour; it was of course full of $3 spatens, 80 beers on tap, and many many Swedish men (a couple token Norwegians and women were around too). When I first met my little swede*, Þórbjörn, I was introduced by another mutual friend who happened to be an insane Norwegian lacking a filter on his mouth (that’s another story). I was jokingly introduced as the mistress girlfriend and of course the Swedes in this group of five, giggled. Yes, the men giggle. And then everyone introduces themselves in a typical fashion but then Þórbjörn here, says hi and gives the swedish male look. It is THE look for a swedish man interested in a woman. They refuse to accept the existence of such a look, but it does indeed exist.

THE Swedish Male Look
What is it? Ladies, you know the look you give a man in the bar/restaurant/party etc that you’re interested in him? You look at him, make eye contact, smile shyly, look away, look back at him, and turn away. That, is basically the look a Swedish man gives.

He is an expert at staring at the floor even when none is in line of sight. He will look at you very shyly, smile a little, bat his eyes and look down at the floor at the same time, then look back up at you. I call the ‘devil in a sheep’s outfit’ look. It’s very innocent and endearing but you know and he knows, there are very naughty intentions behind it.

This look is the definite sign of trouble. Ladies in Sweden, if you get this look, you either move in for the kill or move on. He’s played his move with his shy, quiet Nordic self; he’s waiting for you now. It’s subtle. He already drank a few beers and mustered up the courage to give you the look. So, you better your know it.

And if you can recognize the swedish male look, you’ll know how to hunt down any Swede you want. And if you are timid with men, like myself, well you are partly screwed. This is Sweden after all, and the women pick up the men.

Välkommen till Sverige.

*Since the little swede doesn’t have a very Swedish name in real life, I’m going to give him one: Þórbjörn. Okay, that’s Icelandic but whatever. Or maybe Pehr.

Monday was a good day; a proper good day. I received callbacks from the companies I interviewed with last week and both are interested in second round interviews. Good news considering I have been in Sweden for 26 days now. I also wandered around Medborgarplatsen and found a famous music shop that sells sheet music. Because I have all my music at home I only picked a couple basics: scales book, Fur Elise, and Chopin’s Opus 69, no 1 and no 2. It was wonderful. Looking through the sheet music and feeling the music run through my fingers again. It has been six years since I last touched the piano and eight years since I last realistically played. Back at home on the piano, I learned that not all dies when you leave them. Some things will always run through your blood. You may need practice but it is always there.

I also completed my first photo shoot as a model. It was informal because the photographer, another expat American, was on his third shoot of the day and was exhausted. It was still great. I learned a lot and that I have some talent in modeling. I seem to make a good subject: beautiful and happy but evidently with expressive eyes (that evoke sorrow and deepness). Don’t know, but I would love to model again; I love dressing up and wearing costumes. Hopefully I can get another gig with a photographer here in Stockholm. [anyone looking? send me a post =D ]

While it was a great day in Stockholm I couldn’t help from feeling sad. How much I missed the US. I don’t know what I missed but there is something. I sacrificed a part of my life to come here, and I wonder at times what life would be like if I remained in the US. I suppose it doesn’t matter now, I made a choice and I have to live with the consequences for better or for worse. And try I do to see the silver lining in the clouds, but like winter, she evades me. Maybe today was just one small step in the right direction that I do have the ability to be happy in Stockholm without a developed social network, a companion, or a home. Just one step …

And if there are any women reading this blog who looking to become expats or who just became one, I salute you. It is hard especially as a woman to leave your life behind and start anew. But it is possible. Hang in there and good things will come. Know there are others out there who are doing the same. And know whatever you are looking for in life will find you; let the leaves blow toward you.

I have to give credit to a girlfriend who said that today in a traditional conversation of “men are asses, women are nuts.”

In light of my recent happenings with a certain Swede, blogging about it is the appropriate way to figure out if what happened was due to cultural differences, male carelessness, or dirty thinking. And hey, entertainment value for everyone. =) We’ll start off with last week’s story of a beer outing I had with him and meeting him after six months…

The Nervous Swede
Tall, good looking, athletic, smart, he has the makings of a very fine man. But the Swedish male always has something hidden: his soul, his heart, his intentions, his life. You may meet him several times and only learn about his love for football, sex, and innebandy. He could probably spend most of the evening staring at the floor, ceiling, his shoes, and the infinite particles floating in space. You may never know if he likes you, dislikes you, or wants to take you home forever.

But back to this particular Swede, in usual Swedish spirit we will call him Åke. Åke picks the corner seating in the bar, next to the window. Takes off his neat double breasted pea coat and scarf and sits in the corner. I sit across. We order two beers and begin talking. Then it becomes interesting. Within minutes, he begins fidgeting. Crossing legs. Uncrossing legs. Crossing legs. Rubbing legs. Uncrossing legs. Squirming in the chair.

The conversation quickly unravels into chaos. No topic is covered for more than two minutes. He bombards me with questions: “do you like sweden? are you going to travel? do you know the roads yet? are you going to buy a bike? how is job searching going? where are you applying to ? what abt grad school? when do you find out? where will you live? when do you move in? …” I answer one, I get shot with another. Pretty soon, he was staring off into space. Make eye contact with him, he quickly looks away. A very Swedish thing I must say. Men get scared of making eye contact with women. They will stare at *anything*, but the girl.

Eventually this evening turns into a farce. He looks more and more uncomfortable and frightened. If he had a Fantastic Four power, he would have walked through the window and run. And run! I could not pinpoint his nervousness. Having a beer with a pretty girl? Knowing he has a girlfriend while the one at the table is not quite aware of it? Has a slight attraction and does not know what to do? Who knows…

As luck would have it, Liverpool saved his life. The Champions League was on tv at 20:30 and he could crawl away hoping my look would not destroy him in the process.

And that was öl night with Åke. What it says about Swedish males and males in general, I am not sure yet. But we’ll moving back in time of how this whole relationship unraveled at the seems and eventually imploded.

PS- I should make it clear I am not here to bash him. He was not a bad person or an ass to me during the six months of online confusion (btw, we met each other in person first). It was a learning experience. He admitted being attracted to me and liking me too. But then he was clueless; clueless that I was always attracted to him even though we both saw different people; clueless about flirting that was misinterpreted by me; clueless that being overly helpful is a sign of attraction (no such thing as a free lunch). Though sadly, being clueless is more damaging than being malicious. And maybe distance and time too…

Clarification: I should mention that though I had a deep crush on Åke, I knew it would have never worked out. I had blind optimism that there was still a spark and that maybe the sun, moon, stars, planets, galaxies would have aligned themselves. They didn’t of course and that is for me to accept. What was most hurtful however was being flirted with (knowingly or unknowingly on his end) for a long period when intentions were never there. I can be heartbroken but I don’t like being a made fool out of.

It snowed today. Yes, winter is desperately trying to prove herself worthy of being called winter. And she did a fine job today; the snow remained throughout the morning. I loved it; walking down the street bundled up while large, beautiful white flakes fall onto your hair and coat is majestic. The surrounding trees, fences, cars, and grass covered in white fluff makes everything more romantic. Truly. Snow is romantic. For those who live in the northern states or snow filled areas of the world, there isn’t anything more beautiful than watching the earth be covered in powdered sugar while you enjoy a hot chocolate and a book inside.

But moving on to the second part of title: love. It is a strong word but there is no word between ‘like’ and ‘love.’ (Seems like there is a good market opportunity out there for someone to create such a word.) I came to a sad realization yesterday; someone I had pined for the past six months no longer reciprocated those feelings. He said he had the same feelings and continued flirting during this time. And he was overly friendly, always helping me with whatever I needed if it related to Sweden. (Yes, he is Swedish and yes, he is from Stockholm.) I know Swedes are known to partake in careless, uninhibited flirting, but he crossed the line. Where? It doesn’t matter, one knows. Nevertheless, I felt cheated and taken advantage of, some signs are universal and whether he knew it or not, he continued showing interested despite having a girlfriend. Now, I pondered whether to bring him up in my blog because a certain amount of his privacy would be divulged. Then I decided, it is my life too and if anything, I do write about the Swedish male mind and here indeed is the perfect specimen. You can look forward to posts about him and the twisted, albeit entertaining Swedish male in the future.

Ending the drama with him is a relief. He tore me apart for six months and to go on any longer was ridiculous. Like my friends said, “it’s his loss and his fear to do something new that ended it.” So fine, it’s done and I can move on in peace (maybe a slap to him would be helpful). I can rise from the ashes in every way possible. Today it is my time to shine without a crutch of a male to push me aside as a second. I gave up everything I had to move to Sweden and I deserve what I strive for in this new life. A new job, grad school, friends, home are my priorities. Definitely I will not say no to the fika or a “date” (hey, this blog is about hunting the swedish male) but it is no longer my priority. The phoenix imploded after having her heart broken again and she has returned to a new life.