When life gives you cloudberries
Birthday meditations
I woke up and my flight to Sweden that day was canceled. So I baked.
The recipe for new last-minute travel plans had been passed down through several generations. A couple hours of phone calls to get the flight reimbursed, book an expensive one-way ticket, and inject myself with a high dosage of self-inflicted misery.
Taste for salt, sleep four hours and then head to Charles de Death.
Two hours later I had arrived in Stockholm. My friends were at the exit terminal waiting for me.
« You’re blonde?! » a friend said.
« Gotta fit in, » I said.
We passed posters of famous Swedish musicians, tennis players, and other figures. I didn’t remember this display of national pride from three years ago.
An hour later we were at their apartment where I was staying, crashing in the same childhood bedroom of ten years ago. It felt the same and I wanted to cozy up to it but we were late for other friends.
« Got to meet ‘em in the city ! » I exclaimed.
I shot off a couple texts to herd the others.
« I’ll rally the troops, » one of my friends said.
A blitz shower and a fifteen minute metro later, we were in Södermalm.
The flat stucco buildings, beer and sunlight wine vibes, tall broad shoulders all contributed to a sense of other I had forgotten about. I was trying to remember but my mind was still filtering to organize the rest of the evening.
« Hej! » said an old friend. Old meaning forty years older than me, but also old, in terms of the length of what she contextualised of my experience. She had stayed here in Sweden for twenty five years now, whereas I was ré-rooting in Paris. She also was a bit of a high-priestess for the rest of us, doling out wisdom.
« It was different back then, » she said, drifting off to a memory with the glass of sunlight wine in her hand. She pointed her finger towards the pebbles on the ground, each of them a different experience she was lightly treading over.
I paused to listen, but thinking also of the edits I owed her. It was for a play she was working on but my phone was buzzing.
« Are you there? » the other friend said. He had just arrived from Italy and was making an exception to meet up before heading back on a train to the center of Sweden. A lot of exceptions were being made for me.
« Yes but meet us at the other spot, » I said. A restaurant ten minutes way that my host had booked thanks to his daughter’s boyfriend. He could hold it for 45 minutes max so we had to get a move on.
« Ok, » he said.
My hosts left to grab the table while I shepherded the rest of us across a couple of streets. The Stockholmites were out in terrace force.
A couple pizzas, feta shredded vegetables, squid beignets, Lambrusco Spritz, Hungarian amethyst wine, beers, chocolate gelato with hot fudge sauce, I was drunk and full.
Last lick of the fudge or sås, as they write it here, I miss these vowels, I can’t hold on to them but I can admire them like the a vintage bottle. Pop the cork and let them breathe in the temperature of friends. Two of them left after dinner and though I could’ve had more time with the both of them, it was time to keep going.
I woke up after a last call cocktail bar. Slapped my face with cold water. Direction an island three hours away.
I re-iterate a hangover to say I don’t do it often.
We packed in four minutes and then headed off to Södra station to meet three other friends.
« Ok let’s divide and conquer, » my host said.
« You, pharmacy, » for the tick spray.
« You, grocery store, » onion garlic summer potatoes veal pork yogurt bread crumbs white pepper rye crackers, etc
« You, bakery, » a log of cardamom brioche and sourdough loaf.
We scuttled off in diffeeent directions. Different shops. 40 minutes.
« Oh and you stay with the bags ! »
In normal circumstances perhaps the consensus is longer - who for what role - but we had no time to think. Instinct overrode feelings, which layered the bond the five of us with trust.
We lugged bags of groceries on a train, then bus, and finally a boat into the archipelago.
Forests scurried past us and water turned from gray blue to emerald as we skipped further into the Baltic Sea.
Rhythms we were familiar with were no longer. It was just us as the air of the sea. Two colors, two atmospheres.
The aroma of coffee glittered across the second floor of the boat. Beers clinked. Card decks were shuffled.
« Take this, » my host said, handing me a deep blue Merino wool sweater. For the elements I was unprepared. But prepared I was to celebrate my birthday in full force.
I was stepping away from Paris for the first time in a year. There were residuals of this adventure, like book royalties.
Small percentages of myself that were being returned with interest after now two years of integration in a land that wasn’t familiar.
I was spending my birthday with the creatives in my life. At least, my life as it has been unfolding, a pace faster and more confusing than the previous decade, even though I was ten years wiser.
It has felt like I have became at peace with the darkness within me and enjoying the process of guiding it into the light. The summer archipelago, full of light that has not stopped.
We went to a dance club for locals. Like a country dance for those who’ve known each other, stacks of hay and cattle, moos and awe.
« I don’t feel like it » I said.
At first I said no. We were at the water earlier, taking a dip in the rain and fifty degree water temperature.
« Ready? » one of my friends said, as she used the ladder to submerge herself. She was saying ready to herself. A water so shocking that no one could help you.
« Breathe! » the expert said. To slow down your breathing in the water, from the shock, you learned to control your mind.
After two minutes I quickly got out of the water. Friends followed. We shared towels and the returning warm blooded levels of comfort.
« Really? » one of my friends said. We were waiting in line at the dance hall. The bouncers were staring at us.
« I don’t know… » I said.
« Give you five tickets for three, » the bouncer turned saleswoman. « Two for free. »
We brokered ourselves into a deal. Our wrists got stamped and we headed in.
We must’ve danced for three or four hours. To be the only outsiders dancing amongst the Swedes was a particular form of pleasure. They looked at us, we looked at them, and we all had a good time dancing at the other. The beats blended into rhymes and piss alcohol.
As we left the dance hall at 2, 3a, the sky was Halloween blue. Bright azure, a bike ride flowing between darkness and twilight sunrise. Just the sounds of our tires rolling through the dirt path, wandering back to our cabin, enveloped by the island’s silence.
Woke up to a friend coming back to the cabin at 9a.
I was laying out in the gentle sun. Me and a bluish bird.
Yogurts cherries pot of coffee and cardamom loaf bread. We were giggling a lot from the sleeplessness.
An hour bike ride to the beach. Cows following us for a mile. A dip in the water, colder than yesterday.
Sandwiches with prosciutto and sourdough bread. Slaps of Swedish butter, « smör. »
One last dip into the ocean, then sauna. Lungs filling up with heat.
In between a classic hot dog. Grilled sausage with fried onions and sweet sour mustard.
Three cold showers and the smell of new forest wood.
Spoken to in Swedish at the bar. Assumed because of the blonde hair ? I kept it cool for as long as I could and was led to the table with friends. The only language barrier was being myself.
Friend cooked us real Swedish meatballs. Mashed up with hands and lots of salt and pepper. 60-70 % ground beef and 30-40% ground pork noted. Experiment to find your preferences. Serve for friends and family, those who lower the barrier to arrive at yourself.
« Ok one last cloudberry ! »
I was shouting into a bowl of ice cream.
Mmm a delightful harvest of a time!!