I'm sill in Spain. Its still warm. Brutal even. I read and sleep and swim in a pool. In the morning our family walk on the beach with other old people. Some with walking sticks. Its all very middle aged. During siesta we rest, then no one can swim, or walk. Thats how they do it here. If you are Swedish you have to obey. Swedish people are good at obeying. You tell a Swede to stand in a straight line in a snowstorm the Swede will do it. And say nothing about it. I read Bodil Malmsten of course, now a book about a former model who's drug addict parents committed suicide. Now she lives in Paris and steal from rich women. But mostly she is angry, hatefull even. Its very dark and depressing. When I look out the windows of our apartment and see the dry Spanish mountains something doesn't ad up. I don't know Spanish litterature, but I find it hard to imagine a Spanish person writing anything this cold and dark. But a Swede. Having stood in straight lines in snow their whole life? Of course that will leave a mark.
Airportline is in Altea. That is in Spain. Where the motorbikes cry up the hills, where the sun is burning my Swedish legs and where English is just a language like any language. And, where everyone drinks Amstel. Yes, its messed up. Me and my reading family are hiding in an apartment with reading material to last us through a war. We even carry the latest Harvard Business Review. We call it holiday and it taste like the sweetest kiss of relaxation you´ve ever tasted.
It happened. I turned 27, and for some reason I feel nostalgic. Otherwise I have labeled it 'as the time when wisdom is upon me', so I hope that this is true. I do feel considerably wiser now than one year ago. But this might be temporary. However, Airportline will celebrate this occasion with random people. Swedish style. In Amsterdam. Cultural clarity has never been high on my agenda.
Our Zürich correspondent went to Sardegna and found this cow. Airportline loves cows.
Airportline is on a one day holiday. After a weekend of news coding my head said that I needed a break. So I took one, booked a hostel in Valencia for Friday, applied for some jobs, transferred some money while grumping over the exchange rate, had coffee, made a copy of my passport and forgot my passport in the copy machine. Took a bike ride to deliver the copy of my passport. Realized I had forgotten my passport in the copy machine. Found my passport in the copy machine. Read Blink by Malcom Gladwell, watched one of last years best band Ra Ra Riot play in church on Pitchfork.tv, read about what happened when Charlemagne from The Economist met the Swedish King, and then this article where his love for Sweden blooms into full on infactuation.
You were beyond comprehension tonight But I understood I understood If only I could hold time Hold time Hold time
Words have failed me tonight, failed me tonight But you knew what I meant You knew what I meant Yeah, you heard what I said the whole time The whole time The whole time
And I wrote this song about it Cause I didn't care about anyone in this photograph Yeah, I wrote this song just to remember the endless, endless summer in your life Endless summer in your life
If someone asked me right now which my favourite song of 2009 was I might say Hold Time, and I might look out the window dreaming while saying it. And if you've never been beyond comprehension, if you've never seen the endless summer in someone's eyes, then close you eyes, listen, and imagine. M Ward have experienced it and made a song about it. A hazy, slow, dreamy song about feeling. That is more than most people manage in a life time. Hold Time.
Being from Sweden is interesting. People love Sweden. Even though they have never been there, the image of my home country is painted with blond women, free health care and beautiful nature. And ABBA. A disturbingly large part of the world population find that this is something we Swedes should be proud of. I find this love for Sweden a bit unsettling at times, not because I'm not proud of my home country, but because it is built on some ideas that might not be completely accurate.
Ruben Andersson in The Guardian went full out on Sweden last week in article called Death of the super model, punching holes in all kind of ideas. And even though his picture is almost equally as inaccurate like that of the Swedish paradise, it is an interesting read. This is his explanation of the Swedish health care system:
Take healthcare. Swedes do not enjoy free public care: it costs to see a GP. That is, if you manage to see one. Queues are long and scandals rack the system. Psychiatric care, the source of many such scandals, has a near-medieval penchant for authoritarianism with few European equivalents. People are locked up for months for not taking medicine, given no therapy, and spat out of the system into despair and destitution. The mentally ill die in wards and in outpatient isolation. And they do not even have charities to turn to because state-run healthcare is supposed to work: this is Sweden, after all.
Having some knowledge about the Swedish health care system, which by all means is not perfect, this is a tad bit (as he Brits might say when they discuss it over some biscuits) over exaggerated. Still, I don't see the harm is some Sweden bashing from time to times. And to be honest, now with Andy Murray being out of Wimbledon, anything to make the Islanders a bit happier.
Jens Lekman, one of Sweden's finest pop exports has gotten Swine flue. He describes what happened after he told the stewardess that he wasn't feeling well it in his blog : A ring of empty seats formed around me. Peoples eyes were kind but determined, they read "Poor you, I really wish you all the best but if you come near me or my kid I will have to stab you with this plastic fork". I got up and went to the bathroom where I fainted.
As a tribute to this magnificent artist and lyricist we turn our lights down and listen to this summer gem, then we drink one can of Albert Hein pilsner and silently hope that Jens will churn out another fantastic album in not the too distant future. The global pandemic has never felt so close.
Airportline is busy. Things are piling up and yesterday he could be spotted in the south of Amsterdam carrying a mattress and wooden things on his bike. But, I will not leave you in need, so here I present one of my favorite songs of all time. This is how I describe it in a document I'm writing about the top 30 songs on my last.fm list.
About two people that once had a realtionship who meet again and realize that it meant nothing. With beautiful strings, and then when Amy Millan enters with her soft voice and sings 'this scar is a fleck on my porcelain skin, tried to reach deep but you couldn't get in' its an example of how great popmusic with one male and one female singer can be, how they can use different perspectives. A song that no one should miss.
