A Swedish Midsummer

I don't know yet if I've mentioned yet that I share an office with a cool Swedish guy, who vehemently hates the plant on our windowsill because he thinks it is producing the fruit flies that have recently decided to assault us. That is why the plant is now on the outside windowsill {no screens here, remember?} like a disobedient child. Anyway, you shall know him as the Host of Midsummer. Because on Friday, he and his family threw a Swedish Midsummer party.

I was invited last minute due to the fact that very few people here have my email address, but I was excited to go and experience a holiday that the Host of Midsummer informed me is the most festive in Sweden. It stems from pagan ritual, was influenced by the influx of Christianity, and now serves as a lovely holiday. There were about seven of us from the lab, plus a couple of other Swedish families. Two of my labmates—the Right-Hand-Man and the IT Guy—brought their girlfriend and wife, respectively. We sat at a long table in the backyard of a beautiful, three-family house with a view of Marianberg Fortress in weather that was just a bit too chilly for such a thing.

The solution to this weather factor was Schnapps. Of course, this would have been present even in perfect weather {which, the Swede informed us, never exists on Midsummer}. Schnapps is as vital to the Midsummer as the herring.

The menu consisted of herring from IKEA {we have an IKEA here in Wuerzburg, and the Host of Midsummer told us the products were, if not perfect, pretty decent}, some things like hot dogs that were not hot dogs, smoked salmon, boiled potatoes, bread, cheese, radishes, and crackers. The herring is...interesting. It is in a sugary sauce that almost, but not quite, masks the intense fish flavor. Not being a fan of intense fish flavor, my opinion varied depending on whether it was the beginning of the bite {sweet} or the end {fish}.

Drinks were mineral water, apple juice, beer...and Schnapps. So much Schnapps. Our hosts had printed out the lyrics to a variety of Swedish drinking songs—think Viking—all of which precede a hearty “Skol!” which precedes a heroic downing of a shot of Schnapps. We enjoyed this tradition six or seven times throughout the meal. I, being a lightweight American that dislikes being drunk, managed to make one shot last 3 hours {I am much skilled at the art of sipping} and thus endured no further effect than the significant warming of my ears. {For those unfamiliar with Schnapps, I can only tell you that it tastes like the solution I was given to swish in my mouth before and after wisdom teeth surgery.}

After the meal, the Swedes present invited us to dance around the maypole we unfortunately didn't have. Instead, we placed a vase of flowers in the center of the backyard and danced around with the various words and actions belonging to Swedish folk songs. It is more of a children's thing, but because we were experiencing Swedish culture, and the Swedes present were missing their own, the majority of us joined in. We pretended to be frogs, to wash clothes, to bake, and various other things. It was fun to see my labmates goofing off and having fun. I'm glad the Raman Spectroscopist made me do it.

Conversation was trilingual. Not all the Germans present spoke English, not all the Swedes or Russians spoke German, and there was one hapless American that spoke neither. I was introduced as being from Texas, to which one man{Swedish, I think}, informed me that it was impossible, my head was not big enough. When I introduced myself to others, even just by saying my name, they immediately commented, “Nicht Deutsch (not German).” It was not a question.

Yes, we were made of Swedes, Russians, Germans, and me. Not children of immigrants, but straight-up, this-is-the-country-on-our-passport, internationals. One of the best parts of the night was experiencing another culture—the Swedish culture—and not being alone in my wonder. Now I was with the Germans, trying to understand why the Swedes do the things they do—they don't know—and enjoying a night with friends.

The best German/American moment of the night was when I tried to explain water fountains. Someday you should sit amidst seven Germans, all staring at you intently and in utter seriousness, your heart sinking as you realize that “water fountain” is not going to mean anything close to what you want it to mean. Even with a confirmation from the Right-Hand Man that such things exist—“I've seen them in highschool movies but was never sure how they worked”—describing the process ends with them commenting on the irony of putting a tap outside the bathroom when there is perfectly good water {if you like tap water, which they heartily do not} inside the bathroom.