For to uker siden reiste jeg til Sverige for å besøke en medstudent. Jeg prøvde å skrive litt, men alt ble merkeg dokumentarisk, og jeg endte med å legge det hele på is. Her er utkastene mine. Også de er vel verdt noe.
Uppsala/stockholm 1. Reisen til og fra.
I’m on the train home from Uppsala, where my friend Maria is an exchange student for a couple of months. One part of me wishes that I had been there too, which I could have if it wasn’t for the fact that I chose to stay in Oslo. Fortunately there is another part of me who is incredibly happy to be where I am, nowhere temporary, but rather good old permanent Oslo.
I brought books over, planning to read my way to Sweden and back. I should have known beforehand that this would fail miserably, but I guess I am the naïve kind who never learns from experiences. Trains have this weird effect on me. I end up zoning out. Even though this was a six hour drive, I spent part of it reading a novel, part of it sleeping and most of it just zoning out and staring out of the window while looking at the landscapes and the houses gliding by.
The wagon I was in was jammed with a group of free masons in their fifties, and they managed to add a whole new set of prejudices to the ones I already had against free masons. There were three young mothers in the wagon, and as none of the children can have been more than a few months of age they needed to sleep. One of the mothers had gotten a seat in the middle of the free masons, and asked one of the frontmost free masons if they could swap seats, but he was completely unwilling, stating that “If we keep swapping seats, chaos will ensue”. After this the free masons downed five bottles of Aquavit, (60%? liquor), got really loud and started smoking in the bathrooms. At the same time, the kids kept on waking up whenever they fell asleep because of the noise, but oddly enough didn’t start screaming. The mothers were starting to get that desperate “oh fuck my day is going to become a nightmare if the kid doesn’t get some sleep soon”-look in their eyes, especially the one who was seated in the middle of the crowd. When a lady who was seated next to me asked the masons to please take it a bit easier, they started yelling that “she had to have some problems that she was taking out on them, and what a bitch she was who wouldn’t let them have any fun”. Arguing with someone who has downed half a bottle of hard liquor isn’t too much fun, and for some reason people in their 50’s and sixties manage to be worse than most in that aspect, possibly because they can say that “hey, I’m older than you, thus I am right”.
På veien hjem er det ingen frimurere, men jeg mistenker at toget nettop traff en helg. Det var et dumpt smell, toget bremsa og sto stille i flere minutter.
Uppsala 2: Actually being there.
(delen jeg aldri egentlig skrev)
Maria bor på et sted som heter Flosta, hvor husene er høye og østblokkete, og hvor korridorene er merkelig lange. Hvor tolv personer deler ett kjøkken og hvor alle skriker så høyt de kan klokka ti hver kveld. De har visst gjort alt sammen siden sekstitallet. Jeg skjønner at kjøkkendelinga skaper et behov for å løsne litt agressjon, men det kjentes merkelig. Det vat et sted som innfridde myter og forventninger til studentboliger, men svært ulig alle andre studentboliger jeg har bodd i, vært i og besøkt.
Og så slutta jeg å skrive. Jeg satt på et tog som suste gjennom midtsverige, det var midtnatt og utrolig varmt. Ikke kunne jeg sove, ikke kunne jeg bevege meg. De vakre bildene og maleriske beskrivelsene får forbli min egen lille hemmelighet.