The strangest thing I find myself trying to adjust to is not of the following:
- Having to look the other way to cross the road
- Attempting to decipher clothing and underwear sizes
- Adjusting to and understanding Swedish currency
- Not speaking Swedish
Nay, 'tis but a more perplexing beast. It is the haunting tune I hear that sweeps the streets of my neighbourhood nearly every evening whereby somewhere in the not so distant vicinity is an ice-cream truck anouncing to the public that it is nearby and that ice-cream is readily available for purchase. Ice cream. Autumn/winter. Sweden. Night time. Does not compute.
In Australia, Mr Whippy (as he is affectionately called) bellows the Greensleeves song throughout Australian neighbourhoods in Summer and as if the song isn't frightening enough, children scream like rabid vultures every time he is near. No doubt most Australian parents are juggling homicidal tendencies with the devastating effects of summer heat so I'm sure they are happy to dump the babysitting responsibilities upon Mr Whippy for even a fraction of the afternoon when he graces them with his presence...
However here - it is dark. It is cold and whilst the song isn't 'Greensleeves' it most certainly is just as scary. Though I must admit that despite the intense confusion I am also in total awe: What a bunch of tough bastards.
The Swede thinketh: Hmmm, it's freezing cold and rainy: Give me ice-cream. And give me that shit at night time just in case the one hour of sunlight I saw this morning increased my body temperature and it melts on the way home.
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