...the party theme doesn't make any sense.
After just a few short days in town, before my body had adjusted to the time change and stopped waking me up at weird hours of the night insisting to be fed, I learned that there was going to be a party for new students at a club loosely connected with the university (they give students a discount on the cover). Because of my traveling fiasco, I had missed the orientation event in which they had handed out the entry wristbands and revealed the party's theme. The day of the party I went about my routine like normal: waking up confused as to where I was, eating food out of containers with labels I couldn't read, running uphill, smuggling my powerstrip out of the building (another story for another time); all the time thinking that I wouldn't get to go to the party. Fortunately for me, while I was making dinner my neighbor Alex from Latvia asked me if I was going to the party that night. I explain to him my lack of wristband, and he offered me an extra one he had been given on accident during orientation. Success! He told me he'd see me at 8 p.m. for the pre-party in the upstairs kitchen.
At 9:30 I made my way up to the pre-party, remembering that nothing starts on time here, and walked into the overcrowded kitchen. Kitchen parties are apparently the way things are done here at Norrmalm (my apartment) due to the fact that the lounge is closed for renovations and our rooms can't handle more than five or six people. Holding the one beer I had left after meeting my German neighbors (also for another time), I walked in and immediately sat down next to a group of people. Three seconds later when I realized I don't speak Dutch, I turned to find someone else to talk to. I introduced myself to a girl named Lies (sounds like lease and also Dutch coincidentally), and we ended up talking about the different classes we would be starting in a couple of days. We were joined by the other later comers, mostly because we were standing in front of the door, and before long, everyone stood up and paraded out for the club. On the way, I asked a Belgian guy I met named Hans what kind of party we were going to. His answer: Hawaiin.
...his name was Magnus.
Yes, I was also confused/surprised. Here, in Sweden, amidst the 3 feet of standing snow, we are actually walking to a Hawaiin party? I know that I'm the only American in my building, but I feel like at least one other person should have been as perplexed as I was. This apparently was not the case, and everyone else was pumped for the party, especially the guys. I couldn't blame them; it was their first theme party in Sweden. I was just having trouble assembling my expectations. Their imaginations were already lost in visions of anticipation, while mine was struggling to form a coherent opinion. When we finally arrived and checked our coats, the reality was not quite what we had expected. There were no tiki torches, no fire dancers, no grass skirts, only a few bartenders wearing bikinis, two flowered garlands sagging low from the ceiling, and a mob of what we were later told were nursing students running around in the masks and caps they had gotten at their clinicals that afternoon.
Confused by this initial site, I passed by the bar to where some people were dancing nearby and tried to establish a game plan. People quickly swarmed all around me in the overcrowded area between beer and boogie, and while I stood there half dancing / half trying to figure out if the bartenders took anything other than cash, someone sort of fell into me from behind. He was apologizing before I even turn around, saying that it was completely his fault and asking me to forgive him. I began to say that it was no problem because of how crowded the club was when I found myself face to face with a Tiger of Sweden. This man was so well put together and well dressed that I had to remind myself the people around him were normal like me and not a group of uglies he paid to follow him around and highlight his prepossessing features and wardrobe. I held out my hand to introduce myself and show I wasn't upset, and he gladly returned the gesture. He told me his name was Magnus and being a Sundsvall native, asked me how I liked the city so far. I briefly told him that I was enjoying myself and struggled not to be distracted by the fact that people (both men and women) stopped as they passed by us just to stare at him. He listened politely, as I eventually learned all Swedes do, and told me he hoped to see me again in the future. Still a little stunned but realizing that when he walked away he took the crowd with him, I hurried off to find the people I came to the party with.
...you are handed three beers.
Being the heavy non-drinker that I am, I forgot to bring any cash with me to the club. So when I made it over to where my group was, I had trouble explaining why my hands were empty. It didn't take me long to learn that if you are a likeable enough guy, many Europeans will gladly buy you a drink with a sort of unspoken agreement that you will return the favor sometime in the future. I was more than alright with this arrangement and for the rest of the night tried keeping a mental tally of IOUB's in addition to remembering each person's name. This worked well for a couple of hours, and I had a great time talking with the people I walked over with. It wasn't until later in the night, about the time Charlotte (shar-low-tah) from Holland was berating me for not knowing Nils Holgersson, a mischeif causing, giant goose riding, fairytale character so dear to many Europeans' childhoods that he is even on the 20 Kronor note (which he is I discovered)
that three different people approached me at once holding a new beer for me. Well, between you and me, let's just say that I didn't want to be rude.
...the after party was in a cigarette.
The rest of the night went very well. We even made our way down to the bigger dance floor where house music was playing and people from all over the world were dancing. Seeing so many people representing so many different cultures dancing together was a great experience. There were no expectations and very little self consciousness. The best part was that it was actually dancing, not the normal sex-in-public style from back home.
The club eventually closed at 2 in the morning, which I was informed was way too early for respectable Europeans, so we quickly attached ourselves to a group heading to an apartment building for an after party. Upon arriving at Domas's (say it a couple of times to yourself and then try not to laugh like an immature American) apartment, we realized that it would be standing room only for most of us. Things were going okay, but after awhile, I couldn't help feel the aggravation that accompanies second hand smoke. I agitatedly kept looking around the room, but I couldn't find anyone with cigarette in mouth or hand. Hans quickly realized my confusion and informed me that Domas had a special smoking light (pseudo Swedish vaporizer thing) in the room so people didn't have to go out in the cold to smoke. Perfect, I was standing in a giant cigarette. Fortunately, we all decided to leave soon after that for the comfort and chairs of our apartments.
All in all, my first Swedish-Hawaiin party was a success.
Until next time, Ha det bra.
You should have told them you were from Hawaii.
ReplyDelete"No, this is all wrong. In Hawaii, ukulele plays you."