Chapter 7 Stockholm

1:46 AM

Lena’s approach to her Swedish adventure was slightly more committed. She knew that Olaf de Palma was a kind occasional cook, but he didn’t seem to be the material good enough to help her find her way in Sweden. The first thing she did was buy an adequate number of books which would help her learn Swedish as quickly and thoroughly as possible. It was a blessing to be isolated in the evenings from thoughts connected with Karol Markowski, her recent love crush, to be fully focused on the language she knew nothing of. But soon it appeared that Swedish was slightly similar to English, at least when it came to the basic division of tenses and vocabulary. The pronunciation seemed to be problematic, there were vowels she wasn’t acquainted with and rhythm different from Polish and English. But there was something about Lena which made it impossible for her to read a book on history or one of these volumes Robert was swallowing in the pace of a racing horse, but she had no problem in memorizing words, learning passages, sentences, and proverbs, and pretty soon she was able to speak basic language without fear of making mistakes.

She also printed a detailed map of Stockholm, a map of Stockholm’s metro and in addition to this, she equipped herself with maps of five different cities and towns all over Sweden just to make herself prepared.

‘How’s Paris?’, she phoned Robert during her break at school when she was watching children playing in the corridor, ‘Is it as romantic as they say it is?’

‘Slightly so,’ Robert sounded weirdly grumpy, ‘Do you know any ointment I can put on a painful skin area, some painkiller in cream?’

‘In France? I don’t know any drugs in France. But they should have the same stuff that they sell all over Europe, I believe. What happened?’

‘I slipped on the bathroom floor,’ Robert explained.

‘Good that you didn’t get stuck inside! Imagine being closed in the bathroom and you don’t know any French to scream for help!’

‘I need to go, there’s a pharmacy, I’ll try to buy this ointment,’ Robert sounded as if he wanted to change the subject, ‘Call me when you get to Stockholm, OK?’

‘Fine. Au revoir!’

Robert didn’t answer. Apparently, he still hasn’t learned any French, even basic expressions.

It was funny how close Stockholm was from Warsaw. It took Lena less time to fly there than to visit her own hometown, not crossing any borders or seas, traveling only by bus. She safely landed at the airport and was welcomed by the smiling face of Olaf de Palma, holding a card with her name and three chocolate bars imitating a bouquet of flowers.

Stockholm was far more peaceful than Warsaw and definitely cleaner. Lena admired the abundance of water and countless little islands all over the city landscape. Metro stations were amazing, their vibrant colors and shapes reminded her more of an art gallery than the starting point of the city transportation. The only drawback of the city was its price. Everything was expensive: from public transport fare, through coffee and a cinnamon bun in the street cafe, to an actual fast food meal in an average restaurant. Stockholm was not only expensive in comparison to Warsaw, but it was also generally expensive, taking into account world standards, and what would be a decent supply of food in the supermarket in Poland, for the same price was barely enough for a couple of days in Sweden.

Olaf was in a lucky situation among the sad stories of inadequate Swedish big city housing market (with more and more young people being forced to live with their parents), as his parents equipped him with a small flat in Western Stockholm, a cozy place in which he started his student’s years and the same one in which he finished. The studio’s only room was the size of Lena’s room in Robert’s flat, but the presence of its own kitchen, bathroom, and balcony placed Olaf higher on the scale of human real estate ownership. It was a bright flat, its walls were painted in white, even bathroom tiles were white and so were the kitchen cupboards. Only the hall was painted in black to contrast white flat surfaces. The flat was furnished with IKEA but it was a higher level of IKEA, definitely more pricey than the one Lena was in possession of.

Lena felt the difference in the level of life between Poland and Sweden, even when looking at the balcony’s designer chairs and a round metal table, all of which were leisurely standing on a set of wooden planks, just waiting for the coffee to be placed there and relax to begin. For a lot of those employed in Poland life still meant living from one salary to another, wondering somewhere in the middle how to save on food, with exception of growing middle-classes, big city citizens, company owners, and corporation workers. For working Swedes, this life was upgraded to a house ownership, some savings in the bank and a few holidays to tropical countries a year. And a good social system, which shifted unemployment from a total tragedy to a temporary situation, which left you time to think. But there were always stories of rich and poor and Lena was probably somewhere in the middle. Lena loved Olaf’s flat and if she was ever to own her own, she would definitely have something similar, except for that in Warsaw.

Olaf was about the same age as her, but soon she felt some sort of distance between them. He was an only child of whom parents took proper care. He never had to pay the rent, he never had to deal with murderous roommates and flatmates, he never coped with questionable living conditions of Warsaw University dorms, as a matter of fact, he never even had to work. To make all of it sound even better (for him), he could travel and not worry about paying the rent for the flat that was his own without the mortgage hanging over his head. Maybe, for this reason, he was able to idle his time away looking for missing children he had no relations with at all. Maybe, for this reason, he was also able to employ Lena.