The Airportline: Observations

A few days ago I went to Sweden. To say that it welcomed me with open arms would be an over statement. It practically tried to blow me back to Denmark. And this is not a blog about me, but this is how it looked like. When Sweden rejected me. The total lack of drama in this picture, the total lack of illustration of the wind that blew. That, only makes it worse.

Today I went to Sweden. I stayed four and a half our, it was windy and everything was closed. Saw a giant skyscraper (Turning Torso), it was cool, then it rained and was windy and then we had some cinnamon buns and Swedish coffe. People talked with weird dialects. Everything was still closed, its the day after Midsummer the woman in the Tourist Information told me. I got a Dagens Nyheter and this weeks Newsweek, the we took the bus back over the bridge, to a sunny Denmark. We looked back and saw Sweden, in clouds and empty.

Airportline is in Copenhagen. Jumped on a Norwegian flight, and some of you might think that this should mean that I am in Norway, but it doesn't. In Denmark there are Danish people, and even the locals make fun of their own language the way we Swedish people do (it sounds like Swedish being spoken by someone having a hot potato in his/her mouth). Unfortunately they also still talk about the Denmark - Sweden football game a few weeks ago. Otherwise Copenhagen is nice, already tried a kebab in Norrebro (Copenhagens answer to San Franciscos Mission District, Amsterdams East, Berlin's Kreuzberg and yeah, all the other immigrant areas also populated with hipsters and students around the world) and saw that Mermaid. At some point I will make sure to visit one of my favorite restaurants ever, at least that's how I remembered it when I was here, maybe 16 years ago. Now: instant coffee, rain showers and some work.

I fell asleep in my bed. I was gonna do other things. But I fell asleep. When I woke up I decided that I needed a belt. I biked in the sun with My Morning Jackets album Z in my ears. I looked for Joyce Carol Oats diary in a book shop, and I bought a belt and tried to find a bar that would show Sweden - Denmark. The cobble stones rattled under my bike when I went around the city. I love that sound. Gave up on the football game and bought a small bottle of whiskey instead. Someone called me, he had found a bar which would show the game. Now I'm home, and I feel like sleeping again.

I'm not sure why. But lately I've become very nationalistic for a person not living in his home country. When I go to book stores I point out what books are by Swedish authors, I count H&M stores in cities I visit, and today I watched Robin Söderling play tennis in the French Open. It was a nerve wrecking experience, to say the least. Fernando Gonzalez fought with the referees while the sometimes erratic Swede kept his cool as if he was standing in the middle of a Swedish winter storm. It was a real tight match, mostly because Söderling only managed to break 5 of the 18 (!) times he had a break point, those who know tennis knows that it is difficult to win a match, especially against such a good serving player as Gonzalez, with those numbers. In the forth set it looked like it was all over for the fighting Sweden, but suddenly he came back from nowhere, breaking Gonzalez like he had just been waiting for it for the last two games but not really wanted to. After that it was all over and Söderling ran out as a comfortable winner, ending the game on his knees on the same clay court which Swedish tennis legend Björn Borg celebrated some amazing wins. Now Söderling, who previously bet the unbeatable Nadal, is looking at his first ever Grand Slam Final. On Sunday I'll be watching in Amsterdam while my room mate follow it more closely in Paris. And tomorrow there is more nationalistic opportunities as Sweden plays Denmark in the Word Cup Qualifier in football.

In pop culture news, I saw French popexport Phoenix yesterday. They were truly amazing. More about that later, maybe even some pictures.

Amsterdam is tropical today. Humidity is all round, like a ill fitting dress on a ballerina dancer, it crusades among the canals of the city. And I've biked too much today, and I've been late, gotten directions from a hairdresser, had to argue for my self, and win, and then bike some more, and finally lye in bed and listen to the rain. In other parts of the world, Denmark for example, someone argues that Scandinavians are more intelligent than Rumanians and Bulgarians. This is of course bull shit, which most Danish people probably also recognize, still, one cannot help to wounder, what's up with the Danish?!

DF politican: We are more intelligent
Danish People's Party MEP Mogens Camre has created an uproar both here and abroad by claiming that Rumania and Bulgaria should have fewer seats in the European parliament because their citizens aren't as intelligent as Scandinavians. His comments were immediately dismissed by MEP's from both countries as 'racist', 'discriminatory' and 'childish' and condemned by Danish MEP's. In an interview with the respected French radio station, Radio France International, Mr Camre dismissed Rumania and Bulgaria as 'unhealthy and old-fashioned societies' that should be stripped of their influence on the EU's decision-making process. 'Rumania and Bulgaria have more votes than Denmark, Sweden and Norway yet in my opinion we're far more clever than they are,' he is quoted as saying. Mr Camre will not be standing at the upcoming European elections in June, but his potential successor, Morten Messerschmidt (DF), said he agreed that it's a problem when under-developed countries with an alternative welfare model can vote Denmark down. The Conservatives leading candidate for MEP, former deputy prime minister Bendt Bendtsen, called Mr Camre's comments 'foolish'. br2, dr news

I’m currently working (well, I was working on it but the development has not been that impressive lately) on a short story called And You People Just Live On Rails. It’s about an office man that meets a crazy guy with a microphone on Union Square in San Francisco. The office man has an interior decorator. So far, this is how I describe this character:

Your cell phone started to vibrate in your left pocket, a reminder of the outside world. You picked it up
‘Hey man, how’s my boy doing?’, and energetic voice on the other side of the line said.
‘Hey, good, I’m good,’ you respond distantly as you take a careful step into the real world when you realized that it’s your interior decorator; a narcissistic gym rat with free flowing brown hair and a fetish for minimalistic steel furniture designed in Denmark. When he fucks his blond assistant; a UCLA-student in love with the Parisian subway, Wes Anderson movie soundtracks and black Starbuck coffee, he fantasize about a 1964 limited edition arm chair from a carpenter in the Danish city of Helsingör. These were things he freely shared during their scattered phone calls, as if his detachment from the physical act of sex was a statement of post modern grandeur. Still, for all his obtrusiveness and his somewhat deranged interest in sharing sexual experiences, you liked him because he managed to be so removed from everyday expectations.