A week in Sälen

It was colder but I couldn't take a picture when I was driving!!

Our place on the left

Well it's over. No, not life. Not the winter. Just our snowboarding trip. Now firstly, I've seen all over the news in UK how cold it's been. You have no idea what cold is. It's amazing how a country can come to a complete standstill after a few minus degrees. Every year it happens and every year it's the same. Why does no-one do anything about it? Well, that's the UK, no wait, that's England for you. Scotland keeps working, so what's going wrong? Well a crap infrastructure is to blame, yes and no. If you have what Sweden has, would it be different? I mean winter tyres. I'm guessing everything would be the same. Yes, I slip and slide in my car everyday, but the country doesn't shut down just because we get metres of snow, yes not the 5cm that brings the country to a grinding halt.

The average temperature for the week, similar to the rest of Sweden, has been around -20 to -25. Yes, everything carries on, yes, we were out riding every day, yes we went for evening walks, yes, it was bloody cold. The 'record' day was on Wednesday or Thursday (the temperature difference wasn't that noticeable) but was -35 when we were out on the slopes. So UK, you think -5 is cold? Hmmm....try a frostbiten face and toes after sitting for seconds on a chairlift. No, this isn't the temperature after windchill either, this is the actual temperature. The lowest in Sweden on this day was -41. Seriously, you really can't imagine. So don't bloody moan that the roads are icy and slippery. Come over here and give it a go.

Well the weather report is over. My posts point- the week has been just awesome. Despite my downstairs area packing up its balls and leaving because of the cold, the snow and mountain was superb. I have to say a big thanks to J's dad, who provided the accomodation- a luxury wooden house, with full stone fireplace, large sauna, awesome underfloor heating, all conveniently located right on the slopes. A real special place, cosy and bundles of charm, with 2 full bathrooms with showers and a third toilet downstairs. There were (eventually) 8 of us and 2 dogs, with room a plenty. Not only was the location of our wooden lodge on the mountain, the slopes around us were fantastic too. Designated as 'black' runs, at the far western point of the mountain, not many people ventured (probably through fear of the slope). So we had it pretty much to ourselves, despite not one bed being available in the whole ski resort.

Personally, my riding legs were accustomed pretty quick. As I told Johanna, her riding by the last couple of days was the best I've ever seen. So other people beware, she is getting really good now. Something new for me, although not snowboard related, was cross country skiing. Yes, you heard me right. The thing is, this type of skiing is massively popular over here and in Europe really. When you say to someone I'm going on a ski trip, you have to specify whether it's utförsåkning or längdskidåkning, basically cross country skiing or downhill skiing. This is a weird concept for me (and English people) as we would never ever ever consider cross country skiing as part of a ski trip. Probably because we don't really know anything about it and what we see on Eurosport (usually what we call the biathlon, with the gun) looks painful.

And so this proved to be the case. I am not a skier, I didn't wish to do intense cardio exercise in -25. Nevertheless it happened. Dressed in my snowboarding gear, so looking like a fool in terms of the cross country skiing world, I strapped on these super light, super thin, edgeless skis. It was a mission. You follow these perfect parallel tracks up and down, round and round on a set course, where we were, either 3, 5 or 6 km (something like that, may have been a 4 km too). We chose the 3 km, no surprises there. After being breezed passed by a few local pro's, we got the hang of it, doing our imitation sliding squat things, running up the hills and holding on for dear life on the downhill bits. So what's to say? Well I didn't fall over once. Impressive? Yes!I also ended up looking like a proper hardcore skier- having a snow beard, all white and frozen. What else? Well, we ended up doing the 3 km lap twice, yup, awesome. The day after, well now as well my groin feels like I've been doing squats for 4 months. Anyway, was a nice experience and yes, I probably will punish myself again next time. In the mean time, I'll stick to boarding.

Well I'm bored of writing now. But a week of fun, despite the cold cold temps. Good food, good company, think I'm getting used to the Skaraborgska (Especially after my last post!! If J says 'gött' again, I shall kill her...this is a Swedish joke). Can't wait to ride again......just not sure when it will happen : (

p.s. We saw 2 Bernese mountain dogs there, fit the winter wonderland perfectly, funny to seem them sliding all over the snow.

An interesting last week or so

So the usual Xmas and NY thing has been laid to rest for another year. Another Xmas for me, spent sitting there like a lemon, not understanding much of what the hell is going on. Yes, it appears I am linguistically challenged. For despite understanding (practically) everything around me in Uppsala, at work etc, as soon as I take that first step out of the car in Skövde, it's like I've landed on a new planet.

Much like northern monkeys in England, the regional accents are painfully different. I literally cannot hear the sounds, just a sea of mumbling. The only saving grace is sitting around 5 year old kids, as the elders speak properly and clearly to this forsaken bunch. It's potentially not a problem with my inability to hear these strange sounds, for the accent I have an 'ear' for is the Uppsala/Stockholm area, meaning the 'proper' Swedish. Much like anywhere north of say Oxford in England (minus some areas), the accents become, in a word, retarded. It's not the same anywhere, just a vast mishmash of weird dialects and accents, the one that really gets on my tits is the northern 'the'. Yes folks, even people who 'speak English' cannot even say this little word. I know Swedes struggle with the 'th' sound, it becomes more of a 'da', or at least my significant other, when being lazy, starts sounding like a Jamaican. However, the select northern people then refer to 'the' as 't' in the phonetic saying of the letter, yes, very very special.

Anyways, my lingo problems continue, something I shall further address this year.......

Another non event has been the last 5 days. Like a lot of unfortunate souls, I've had crazy fever, aches and pains, tiredness and worst of all, Niagra Falls out of my arse. It's subsided now, just in time for my boarding holiday to Sälen (yes, seems 'convenient' I know, but trust me, I've been sick as a dog). So no New Year for me, I heard it from my bed, that counts right?!

In other more general boring, lets just write something, type of thing, it's been cold here and snowing for a while now. It's strange when you can't get in your car because the doors are ice-welded shut. The lowest my thermometer reading has been was -18. All I can say is thank f**k for heated seats. The weather topic is immensely boring, I know. But it's beautiful here, really it is. Everything is white, the sun is out and it's crispy crispy noodles, just awesome.

Today is packing day then, getting all my boarding stuff together. I shall take the camera and the video camera, hopefully can manage to convert the video files to something able to put on here. After all, we don't want to miss J boarding right : )

I've lost the writing thought severly now. Just want to say a quick thanks for the Xmas presents from everyone. There's always bizarre things in the news that make me laugh. Such ridiculous things on BBC, that suggested if you take a walk on Xmas day, after all the food, you would burn off calories and feel better- reported in the British Medical Journal or something. No shit. True science that is. Honestly.

I'm not in to all this celebraty crap, but an interesting comment on Sky news about the Brittany Murphy death at 32 (I think): 'A state coroner said Murphy appears to have died from natural causes but other reports have said she suffered a cardiac arrest'. What the hell is a natural cause, especially at 32?! No suspicion there.

Just to let you know, the huge snowman is where we will be staying (well not in the snowman) but at Lindvallen in Sälen.

Well no educational summary, no clever jokes or puns for the start of 2010. Just get on with it, as before you know it, 2011 will be here.

Nearly over

The Simpsons marathon that is. A few more episodes left....

Just thought I'd share my activities planned for tomorrow: they involve snow and a board. If you put it all together what do you get? No, not broken limbs, incredible amounts of pain and a trip to the hospital. You get one of the best things there is in life, no not ironing in the snow (wow, that was tastless), but snowboarding.

Yes folks, it'll be my maiden voyage this season to Kungsberget, yes truelly the Kings Mountain. As I snuck off (well not really, I'm working Monday) from the Xmas goings on, I thought I'd hit the slopes for a pre-Sälen trip (first Sunday in January 2010- that sounds weird).

I found an okayish video from the place, bear in mind this is just the park, but to be honest it isnt soo much bigger (well kind of). Anyways, it's just to get you in the mood.....

So it begins

At least Swedish TV is good. 10 hours of Simpsons today, starting now.......

p.s. I shall write a better Xmas message soon

Squash (again)

Well no report for the last 'Seriespel' match (well at least yet). Not that really anyone knows anything about squash but the last big tournament of the season (on the pro circuit), the Saudi International, has just finished- the final a stunning (just short of) two hours of intense squash between the top 2 guys (form at the moment) in the world. There was lots at stake, besides the biggest pay cheque: the number one in the world spot. This in layman's terms was the Federer-Nadal final, between two incredibly talented guys, Nick Matthew and Ramy Ashour. It's almost impossible to understand how intense squash at this level is, that despite its stereotype, is most definitely not for the upper class businessmen, not willing to get there whites dirty. On that note, check out this little beauty of a clip from a few years ago.



p.s. Ramy won 3-2, world no.1 at 22 aint half bad.....

The Västerås official mini report

Well here's the other side of the story. May be not as interesting?!?!?

VSC4 mötte Uppsala

Per Garmo startar övertygande mot Greg Hauerbele och vinner första med 11-6. Slappar lite i andra och förlorar med 11-4. Sen gör Per som vanligt (löper sönder motståndaren) och vinner med 11-2, 11-5.

Per Fredriksson stöter på Lars van de Heide och styr spelet ganska enkelt till 11-6 i första. Fortsätter likadant i andra och vid 9-3 ledning för Per, får Lars ge upp matchen efter att ha slagit axeln ur led.

Patrik stöter på tufft motstånd i form av Michael Thorpe. Michael som spelat Brittish Open som junior( 25-30 årsåldern nu) är både spelskicklig och snabb som attan. Patrik gör en spelmässigt bättre insats än i första matchen, men jagas runt hela plan, av en skicklig motståndare och förlorar i tre raka games.

Slutresultat: 2-1

Squash match- a day to remember

Squash, what a sport....or vegetable

What do you get if you cross a hungover Dutchman, a squash ball and a dodgy right arm? Lots of morphine and an evening in A&E at Västerås hospital.

The story then. Firstly let me just say the original idea of this was supposed to be a simple squash report. That is far from what it turned out to be.

The day started like any other. I met up with the squash team- consisting of 3 very distinct characters. Myself, an Englishman (PhD immunologist) playing at one. Lars, a Dutchman (Post doc. oncologist) playing at two. Last but not least, Greg, the man from Belgium (Medical doctor, eye specialist) filling the number three spot. Now not only are we all geeks, all immigrants and all pretty average at squash. We were on a mission- to keep our necks at the top of the squash table. This was going to be a tough task as we were going to play one of the best teams in the league, in their own back yard (well squash court at least).

During the hour drive up to Västerås, the team mulled over some squash tactics. Mine and Greg’s plan was to hit 33 winning nicks, comfortable 3-0 victories, then go bowling (in the same sports complex as the squash courts). Lars meanwhile was recovering. You see, this was no ordinary day. I forgot to mention Lars was not meant to be playing. Oh no. The young Dutchman had intentionally sampled some whisky delights the night before and was coming only to inspire us, especially being the team captain and all. Our ‘first choice’ number two was a mature Ture, who gave us a wealth of experience, a guaranteed victory no doubt. Yet the atmosphere was dry, something felt wrong. And indeed there was. A phone call later and ‘a f**king hell, this is not good’ from the flying Dutchman, now meant Ture was unable to play, leaving his spot open to the albeit slightly hungover Lars.

How hungover you ask? Well lets just say, he drank half a litre of energy drink then fell asleep- I then gave him a litre of water, 50% of which turned in to a whisky water mix, from the fumes radiating from his mouth hole. So the Dutchman’s tactics- to breathe all over his opponent, comatosing him, resulting in a win by default. A full proof plan or so it seemed.

Just a brief word of how the (squash) system works: your team turns up, there’s 5 other teams present, you play 2 matches against 2 different teams, have a shower, then go home. No beers/alcohol (unless you get drunk before hand, Lars) and no real social scene- it’s potentially not as fun as it should be, but I digress.

So the team was playing Enskede (in the first match) and Västerås (in the second). You could cut the air with a knife, I mean championship points were at stake and a huge pressure for the virgin…….the squash virgin. Yes, Greg was indeed playing his maiden match in this crucial tie. Not fazed, a smooth, confident Greg, with his David Ginola looks, casually glides on to the court, hitting perfect lengths and widths in the warm-up. Meanwhile, a hungover Lars, having no kit, was forced to purchase new shoes, new shorts and a new T-shirt. Now sponsored by Yonex, the smart looking Dutchman is also a fine business man- knocking off 200 crowns off this rather extortionate purchase. Ready for battle, the Dutchman starts the heckle the opponents, striking fear in to their very hearts.

Greg, displaying a fine performance was finding his range nicely: keeping his opponent guessing, punishing him in the back corners, pouncing on every loose ball. Demoralized by his stylish looks and unassuming presence on the court, Greg took hold of the match to come out a comfortable winner 3-0, having his opponent all over the place, diving around the court and wishing he hadn’t left his house that morning. A wink and smile later from Greg and up next was the professional looking Dutchman.

After reinforcing his tactics, the Dutchmen didn’t get off to a bad start, forcing his sober partner to make basic errors as the whisky poured off the toned Dutchman’s body. The momentum changed though for poor Lars. After narrowly losing the first, it got worse for the Yonex rep. A drastic change of tactics was needed. No longer could we count on his alcohol content to get the opponent drunk. The squash would have to do all the talking. We can skip a few details, but lets just say the squash didn’t say too much after the tactical change. Exhausted from the alcohol pouring out of his system, Lars’ last gasp effort to salvage the match was in vain, the outcome a sobering 3-0 to his worthy opponent.

Last up was Mike (yes I’m going to write in third person now). Having built up a fearsome reputation from the previous match, the Englishman’s opponent didn’t know what hit him. Drilling the ball in to the nicks, keeping his opponent is a state of confusion, the poor opposing Swede could only pray to his Ikea meatballs for some divine inspiration. It didn’t come. The onslaught was relentless. Drawing in a record crowd (of about ten people, enough to fill a small seminar room), the whisper of excitement about this foreign player was filling the court. Keeping his ego down, the Englishman casually controlled this impressive display with soft touches of inspirational accuracy, and hard hitting power strikes, devastating his opponent. The only outcome, a deserved 3-0 win for the skinny little Englishman.

So, the dream still alive, a hard fought, yet brilliantly executed 2-1 win over the Stockholm meatballs was concluded. The weak link in the team, still trying to break in his new shoes wanted revenge. Like a finely tuned killing machine, the Dutchmen was studying his prey. Ready to proverbially pounce like the slightly drunk animal he is. After a motivating team talk- including how we really should go bowling, up next was the big one. Not since the Jamaican bobsleigh team, had there been this much anticipation from the leading two teams in the league.

However, soon we realized, the dream would be almost over. Remember the start of the day? Remember how the Dutchman was never supposed to get in that car, remember how he had no kit and had to spend almost three months salary on a stylish pair of shoes? Well fate has a funny way of biting you in the arse.

After a confidence boosting win, the foreign Uppsala team was ready for the next challenge. One of which in the history of squash, will go down as the most painful match ever played. No, not because of the tension, the unimaginable talent of the Uppsala players, oh no. For one fateful shot served to be the end. Yes, the end of a certain Dutchman’s shoulder.

For you see, the second match felt wrong. Greg was up first, his confidence apparently sky high, yet his demeanor warranting a note of caution. Up stepped the casual number three, but something had changed, the wind in his sails had gone. Could it have been the extortionate coffee he’d purchased just moments earlier? Could he have peaked too soon, or was it simply fate? Could he see the inevitable future? Either way, Greg, now playing with tension in his arm, fought and struggled with his annoying opponent. After an onslaught of heavy hitting from his opponent, the first game slipped away from young Greg. Not to be deterred, the number three pulled his finger and thumb out of his arse in the second, strolling to a disturbingly easy win. What was this? Were times changing? Was squash this easy? The answer, like when asked to get married folks, was a no. Bad times were just around the corner. The third game started much as the first, a backlash of shot making from the opposing Swede. Time after time of great length and near perfect drops, lead the man from Belgium astray. The calmness had gone. The squash had left the building and Greg, distraught from his opponents consistent game, had to endure the pain of losing his (squash) virginity in a bad way, going down 3-1 in a close encounter not of the third kind.

What happened next was far far worse. Not only was the Dutchman sobering up, new ideas swirling round his head on how to beat his opponent. He had also got used to his shoes. Not so bad you might say, but after a quick hammering in the first game, early in the second Lars made a fruitful error, one that cost him dearly (well 400 crowns to be precise). After a lengthy hard fought rally, the sweat pouring off the two challengers, the clever opposing Swede lobs the ball blissfully to the backhand of the courageous Dutchman. Not to be out done, he swings above his head, the ball aimed at the nick, when suddenly a scream. No, the ball hadn’t found the nick. It wasn’t a scream of despair, oh no, it was a horror scream of agony. For you see, Lars had done something bad, no, not breaking my borrowed racket, much worse…..Lars had dislocated his shoulder. Yes, his squash arm had popped right out of its socket.

Off to Västerås hospital it was. Well, not for the number one, the young, much in need of a haircut, Englishman Mike, was left to salvage the remaining points from the tie. A victory here for the Uppsala team could at least keep them in touching distance with the Västerås lot. Having his teammates on his mind, a determined Englishman was going to fight to the end, if death was the outcome, then so be it. In the name of the injured Dutchman, Mike bravely stepped up to the glass court. His opponent? A giant of a man, a hard hitting monster of awesomeness. This was going to be a tough ask of the hobbit sized Englishman. Having been deserted from his half injured team. This lonesome warrior took charge of the game, punishing the Swede in the corners, destroying all hopes of a 3-0 Västerås win. With his teammates close to his heart, Mike took one for the team, playing out of sheer pride, eventually winning 3-0, just in time to shower, do his hair and rush down to the emergency ward.

What was next to come is as close to human torture as could be defined. Never have I seen a needle that long, you could almost use it as a pole vault. Never have I seen someone take so much morphine, yet still be in agony. Never have I seen nurses at a hospital bring sandwiches and a cup of tea to their patients. Never have I seen a man lye on a hospital bed, face down, arm hanging off the bed, with 5kg of weight attached to it. Never have I seen this someone with this weight, lye there for over an hour and never have I seen someone be soo sick from the morphine comedown. Trainspotting eat your heart out.

After my arrival to see this poor broken man in pain, my first question to Greg (who was waiting patiently by his side) was ‘Did they cut his new shirt off him?’ Appropriate you may ask, but that would really be a kick in the teeth, to lose the squash match, lose your arm out of your socket, then lose your awesome new T-shirt- there is no justice in this World. Luckily, the shirt was still in tact, a shame that the arm was not so well off.

So after 5 hours, 28 mg’s of morphine, 10 mg’s of valium, local anesthetic, 5 kg of weight, about 5 litres of watery vomit, 3 nurses, 2 doctors, two ham and cheese sandwiches, 1 cup of tea, 400kr and still a joking Dutchmen, the day was over.

After a loss of one arm, one match and some money from Lars’ wallet, the team came home with mixed fortunes. We had all our body parts in tact. The puke bags provided by the hospital were most excellent and the damage from the loss of one match was not the end of the World. Our pride was still in tact, the team slightly weaker next time, all wish the courageous Lars a speedy recovery. On a personal note, I’d like to thank Greg for staying with Lars and looking after him for the whole time in the hospital. Being a Dr. himself, Greg was cleaning his wounds, checking his blood pressure and sorting everything out. Lars ended up sleeping the night at ours, on the doctors’ advice: ‘the morphine/sedative effect may stop his breathing’…….’yup, you’re good to go home’. There’s nothing quite like good news………