File Under: Notes

I regret many packing decisions. This is largely the effect of not differentiating between the wonderful web advice about packing lightly and the reality of moving to a new location for six months. I approached the task with an eye to eliminating weight, bulk, and keeping warm.

Turns out, at least so far, I should have dumped all but one or two of the sweaters and packed t-shirts, skirts, and shorts. In addition, though admirable, packing a suit was a bad decision (I knew there would be several formal events and wanted one solution for all of them - a sweater and pants would actually get worn, unlike the suit).

Good decisions - shoes. I don't regret any of em, not even the big huge honkin' boots (though were I forced to jettson something: them or the heels). I thought I was crazy for packing 5 pairs of shoes. I now wish I'd brought tennis shoes too (a sudden and bewildering desire for a jog, I'm not sure where it came from).

I packed with an eye to style and public comfort (and succeeded, though I wish more T-shirts and more skirts). I regret not bringing a big ugly shapeless skirt for wearing around the bedroom and equally ugly cotton shorts for sleeping in when traveling.

Good tech decisions? Computer, firstly, was a necessary investment. Also, I get more use out of my travel mouse than I ever suspected (I thought I'd get used to the track pad... I still hate it after a month of intermittent use). The mouse came as part of a 'travel accessories' pack for $15 from buy.com before the holidays (I was most interested in the USB hub at the time, though I've also used the reeled RJ45 cable, I've not used the phone line). Wise investment, and came with a handy packing case to boot.

Less-wise tech decision? Travel wireless router. I'd use it (particularly because it'd let me move my desk across the room) but I'd have to buy another power adapter for it... and it never occurred to me to buy a second one before leaving.

Baseless angst? Medicines, both traveling with them, and overestimation of my need for a variety of OTC meds (that I knew I wouldn't be able to obtain here). However, I suspect that the first time I get sick I'll stop thinking this was wasted money and effort.

Wishes - that I'd known the very real need for duty free alcohol and took full advantage of the 5L (or 2L, or whatever) that I was allowed to bring into the country. Still kicking myself over that one.

Impossible wishes - that I'd brought a supply of gum, a wok, my stash of spices, and beer-brewing supplies with me.

Things I need to buy here that I suspect will cause me considerable angst: bras, underwear, and large-sized clothing.

Unanticipated costs: shipping! I expected to be mostly self-sufficient once I got over here - able to purchase whatever I needed in town. This hasn't been the case, both due to cost of items here, and being unable to find larger-sized clothes. I predict a request for a box of clothes from home soon. (Shorts, T-shirts, skirts, running shoes, and new bras). In addition, I'm feeling an intense desire for a sewing machine to make more skirts - they're by far the most used item in my wardrobe other than shoes. I am hoping to find either a super-cheep super-tiny/light model at home or the ability to borrow one while I'm over here.

Yesterday we had a presentation by an American student who has been at Vaxjo University for a year so far and hopes to stay longer. She talked about Culture Shock in a way that I'd not realized was particularly American (blunt, short, clear, fast, almost brutally or rudely concise and colorful and dramatic in her descriptions). Her presentation covered useful information for me and reinforced things I was already doing (and warned me to watch out for other aspects of integration or disintegration).


She talked about the three phases of Culture Shock. The first is the honeymoon phase. This is when the experience is new and exciting and differences are viewed as positive and frustrations are minimized. Until yesterday evening, my honeymoon period was in full swing. I was in love with the country, the culture, the weather, and viewed all differences as 'cute' or exciting.

Then I got tired. It's exhausting to constantly adapt, to run translation filters for common words in a mother tongue (and I'm in awe of what the non-English students have to go through!), to wander blindly looking for bathrooms, coffee, or food, asking for help from strangers in all aspects of life (thankfully, Swedes as a group are SHOCKINGLY helpful and very willing to speak English to assist complete strangers). The second phase of culture shock is one of anxiety, fear, and withdrawing.


Cultural differences are viewed negatively, differences are frustrating and no longer exciting, a desire to leave may be expressed or simply a desire to spend time only with other students most like yourself (or other exchange students only). Irritability if the key characteristic I find myself expressing of this state (and lets me know that I've reached this second phase in my adjustment).

Like depression, the cure for this state is engagement. Refusing to spend time only with exchange students or North American students (there are several Canadians in addition to the American students from Chicago, North Carolina, New Mexico, and Kentucky) was something I did instinctively but will have to discipline myself about in the coming weeks. Consciously spending time and seeking out Swedish students or exchange students from other locations needs to be a forefront goal of my daily interactions.


To that end, I've found a riding stable on campus and am inquiring about employment there tomorrow (I suspect my lack of Swedish will hamper me *greatly* in this but I hope that perseverance and willingness to learn will make up for it). It is easy walking distance from my dorm, which excites me greatly.

In addition, my Swedish fadder Maria has been immensely helpful in smoothing my transition to Swedish life, answering stupid questions, obvious questions, and bringing to light some hints about unspoken Swedish cultural rules (never wearing shoes in the house is a cultural norm, but the unspoken reason for this is a national preoccupation with hygiene and cleanliness).

Gems like this give me some structure on which to hang my understanding and observations of Swedish culture.


It is my hope that in time I will reach the third stage of cultural adjustment: integration. In this stage and appreciation of cultural differences does not mean native culture is rejected and present cultural environment is accepted wholeheartedly, but that differences are noted, examined critically and accepted without value judgment. It is my (private) hope also that a greater appreciation of my own culture will be possible through this experience. Uniformly, the Swedes that I've spoken with talk positively about American culture, with the exception of politics, while also retaining an appreciation for their own culture - and it is my hope to emulate this.

I've arrived.

I flew from Detroit to Frankfurt, Germany, then to Stockholm, Sweden and then onto Vaxjo, Sweden. It was more or less 24 hours spent in airports or in the air.

My favorite or most interesting thing about the airports were the variety of toilets I encountered. American toilets are porcelain pedestal with a rectangular porcelain box on the back with a lever attached to the side. Pushing down on the lever flushes the toilet. My favorite (or least favorite, depending on my frustration level) toilet was the one I found in the German airport.

It was a regular pedestal (small details made it obviously foreign but the most basic features were the same) but mounted on the wall. There was no rectangular box full of water and no levers to press. There was a small black sensor thing that I placed my hand in front of several times to no avail (perhaps it was an automatic model with no need for levers?). The only other detail on the wall was a large plastic slightly raised box (a huge flat light switch?) that I surmised had something to do with maintenance, storage of seat covers, or perhaps feminine product disposal. After examination of every aspect of the toilet (including the bottom of the bowl and the floor and the off chance that the flushing mechanism was a button of some sort), which took perhaps 30 seconds, I started fumbling with the plastic box on the wall.

The toilet flushed. The large flat plastic switch was the flushing mechanism. I felt both stupid and very smart, something I'm finding is characteristic of my experience abroad so far.