As a young and poor man, my grandfather George Sigfred Nelson left Sweden for the U.S.A.... as a stowaway on a coal ship. There he married another Swede and got a job in construction, but soon volunteered to fight in WW2 on a minesweeper where he lost a lung. He persevered and become a successful architect. My grandpa was not a very talkative man but did teach me "Tak so mekka" (thank you) and "vor so guht." (you're welcome)
He had passed away when at 16, I decided to pursue what turned out to be 3 months abroad; Having read "Siddhartha" by Hermann Hesse I first wanted to go to India but not having my parent's approval for this idea, I decided on Sweden.
After my plane trip across the ocean, I stayed with a family who lived on a very small farm by the island of Oland; they commuted to the island to work. I particularly remember the mother who kindly welcomed me. We had some talks crossing the long bridge to Oland, the literal substance of which I don't recall, but some emotion or nature sticks with me. The son, a brisk athletic young fellow, reached out to me but no real friendship ever developed.
There also was a 16 year old girl: a pretty pleasant sort. She had a horse she liked to ride; Out of courtesy, she invited me to her 16th birthday party, where there were other pretty girls and I drank with some young Swedish guys. We had a good time; they taught me how to drink out the brains of a crayfish as a chaser, which strangely enough was not a prank but a delicious and common Swedish party tradition. It was my first drinking party, and as chance would have it, I still have the pictures.
This was not meant to be a permanent family: the woman was going off to work in China for awhile. So my next stop was Harnosand, a small coastal city of great importance only historically; This was the height of the trip. I stayed with a businessman of conservative political opinions; it speaks to something that like so many Swedes he(who thought the taxes were too high) explained to me proudly about Sweden's social safety net and pacifism since 1814, etc. The schools and libraries were also excellent, and I spent much time in the extensive English sections of the latter.
At school, there was a woman who gave me Swedish lessons every morning: I liked to lay back but she perceived that my brain worked anyway and generously allowed it, creating between us a feeling of friendliness that lasts to this day. In my class, I got along with everyone. My best friends were Erik and Frederick; the latter was ethnically one of those tribal bloods famous for their colorful clothing but he was just like anybody else mostly. I remember Erik and I went to a tavern one night where I drank a Coca Cola and got myself into a darts match with a local fellow of some repute. In front of a group of drunk Swedish men I beat him by one bull; He was quite good and we were all friendly about it.
I must mention Swing, though I don't remember how I met him. He was older, in a special music school; He was also gay and his friendship and respect won from me a later acceptance of other gays. We would have tea and listen to jazz music in his immaculate apartment. We also visited various museums together, which were of great interest.
Now, I came to the attention of an older set of students led by Jakob Sanqvist, who had been a handball player, they say #2 in the world. Handball is a big deal in Sweden.
The school, like all Swedish schools was divided by professions and callings, and was in some ways more civilized than any given American university. There was in the basement a coffeehouse: separate from the cafeteria and fairly sophisticated, where techno or hip-hop would be playing. And we hung out and talked there.
Jakob, like other Swedes, guided me on hikes into their beautiful forests: I remember particularly a mountain covered with this just glowing moss. We played tennis and they all repressed any laughter at my then undeveloped ability. The energy in this city was very good for me.
Soon, the time came when I had to leave this city as well. Unable to find a home for me to stay, Jakob and the fellows threw me a great party. I'd never been TRULY drunk before and I must admit even then I was an unusual youth. I remember I indulged in some unusually idiotic bragging, which the fellows tolerated.
I think things got better after that; We had a crowd of fairly hip guys and girls and we had a fairly good time of it. At Jakob's asking, some fellow went across town to get me my preferred drink of whisky(Swedes drink vodka.) I would have stopped this if it were in my power. There was a very beautiful and rather drunk blonde girl who they'd prevailed with to try and sleep with me. I'd never been with a girl and I remember there was actually more than just a physical attraction: she kept saying I looked like John Daniels of Silverchair, an artist I also admire.
But I'd been brought up to be scared of HIV and I left the party without sleeping with her(I also had some more elevated reasons;) But that night I cursed myself and even more when the next day Swing informed me that HIV barely existed in Sweden.
Not wanting to go to a new city and having already had a real cultural experience, I returned to the U.S.A. but the shores of "Svenska" stay with me to this day. Well, "Tak so mekka" for reading my story.
