Oscar Mayer, anyone?

Today's Question for the Reader:

What is the most exotic and/or weirdest and/or most disgusting food you have ever eaten (or attempted to eat)? What were the circumstances that led to the consumption of this exotic/weird/disgusting food? And, how was it?

Let's see if we can get some participation from any of the Finnish/Swedish readers!

Relaxin' on the boat to Sweden!

Åsa, me, Eve, and Nicco

This past Saturday the team traveled to Sweden for a match. We played pretty well and had some great moments in the game which showed that this team has a lot of potential to do well. We came away with a 1-1 tie. Our goal was scored from a perfectly-placed free kick by Eve. Mycket bra, Eve!


The Burrito of Champions

There is a quote which says,"Don't fear failure so much that you refuse to try new things. The saddest summary of a life contains three descriptions: could have, might have, and should have."

I have been told my entire life that I am just like my father, Dr. Bob Robison. My dad is a "seize the moment" type of guy, who is competitive, outgoing, impulsive, hardworking, and loves to have a good time. He is always willing to try something new. My dad and I are the type of people that need someone like my mom in our lives--someone that is sensible, prepared, and as much as we hate to admit it, usually right. My three brothers and I all seemed to inherit the competitive gene from my dad. Whether we are playing soccer, basketball, football, wrestling, arm-wrestling, chess, Scrabble, Texas hold 'em, Risk, Trivial Pursuit, Kentucky golf, charades, or going fishing, each of us is full of determination to be victorious. Upon completion of any of these said competitions, the winner in my family (except for my mother, who is actually a gracious winner) is likely stand up and proceed into the Bob Robison victory dance, which entails getting in the face of the loser, making an obnoxious "Woooooo" sound, moving pointed fingers back and forth, and shaking the ass.

The point is, if you challenge us to something, we accept. This is how I have found myself the catcher of at least 4 different wedding bouquets. Trust me, I'm in no rush to get married, but there's just something glorious about beating those other girls to the bushel of flowers flying through the air.

It is with this competitive attitude and willingness to try new things that I found myself eating the most disgusting combination of foods I have ever tried.

So far I have been very pleased with all the food I have eaten in Åland. I mentioned in my last entry the deliciousness of the school lunch. But, in contrast, on our team trip to Sweden, I encountered a meal which absolutely must be discussed. After our game on Saturday, we were on our way to watch a match between two teams from the highest league in Sweden (side note: these teams were stacked with national players from Sweden, Germany, Australia, and more. They were amazing.). Since we would not be eating again until hours later when we would board the boat back to Åland, we stopped at a fast-food restaurant for a quick bite. Granted, perhaps I shouldn't judge all Swedish foods through the representation of a fast-food restaurant. If someone were to come to America only to taste the fine cuisine from White Castle or Taco Bell, I'd like to think he or she could have experienced some better options from our nation's menu. So, Sweden, I may be willing to give you another chance. But for now, my friends from the mainland of Finland will be happy to hear me ask, "Sweden, what were you thinking?"

I walked into the tiny restaurant which was bustling with seemingly-happy consumers. I looked up at the lighted menu hanging above the counter to find Swedish descriptions accompanied by pictures. Unfortunately for me, I had just taken out my dried-up daily contacts that I mainly wear for playing soccer. So, though I could see enough of the pictures to know that I had the option of eating one of many hamburger-looking-things or one of many burrito-looking-things, I was unable to distinguish what exactly came with each. I looked at Lena, our team's physical trainer, to ask her what was on Burrito #7.

"Uh, it says shrimp salad," she responded. "You like shrimp salad?"

Sure. Shrimp salad (like your typical eggs and mayonnaise chicken salad, but with shrimp) was the first thing I ate when I came to Åland. It's pretty good. It's not exactly what comes to mind when I hear "burrito," but whatever.

"Yeah Lena, I'll take Number Sjua."

Because I don't speak Swedish, Lena ordered for the both of us. And then she stepped outside of the restaurant to talk to my coach while I waited for our food to be prepared. I watched the woman who took our orders begin on Lena's meal. Apparently Lena had ordered one of the burrito options as well. The woman spread the burrito tortilla on the counter and readied some lettuce, onions, and tomatoes by placing them near by. No shock here. These are all normal burrito ingredients. Next, she scooped three heaping helpings of a thick, pink substance that I took to be shrimp salad onto the tortilla.

Oh, maybe this is mine, not Lena's.

But this thought quickly disappeared at the lady's next move, when she dug another spoon deep into a bucket and pulled out to reveal, much to my surprise, an impressive scoop of gloppy mashed potatoes. She then slapped it upon the meal.

What the...??? Mashed potatoes?! With shrimp salad?! Okay, that's not mine.

Two more shovels of mashed potatoes joined the shrimp salad on the tortilla, which was becoming quite crowded. She threw on the vegetables to make what I assumed would be a completed burrito. But wait...she wasn't done. What is one more additive that could make this already-curious combination the perfect and ingenious invention of a meal? Maybe some sort of sauce or condiment? Perhaps a sprinkling of minced nuts to give it a little crunch?

No. Ladies and gentleman, what this burrito needed was a hot dog.

I'm not kidding.

She laid a footlong hot dog on top of the goulash, then mushed it all together as she wrapped the burrito and covered it in foil. Ding! Finished!

Shocked at what I had just seen, I poked my head out the door. "Lena, what did you order?" I asked incredulously. "Anyways, I think it's ready."

Lena's response: "I didn't order anything. I only ordered for you."

Oh no.

I looked around. The rest of my teammates weren't claiming it. I squinted up at the menu to look at the picture that coincided with Burrito #7. Oh my. There is was. I hadn't seen it before. Sure enough, I had missed the skinny, rounded tip of a hot dog poking out the end of this poster child for the weirdest burrito ever made. Ugh...

I considered my situation: tortilla, lettuce, onions, tomatoes, shrimp salad, mashed potatoes, hot dog. Each of these can be enjoyable--when served alone. Mashed potatoes are excellent on Thanksgiving. A hot dog is perfect at a ball game. But together? Wow. But I was starving. I'd just played 90 minutes of soccer and we weren't eating again for a couple of hours. Plus, I didn't want to come off as picky or wasteful or as though I thought of myself as too good for the hot dog-mashed potatoes-shrimp salad burrito.

I claimed it.

I walked outside, phenomenon in hand, and mentioned to my coach Ubbe that I had never seen a burrito with a hot dog before. He sensed the skepticism in my voice, and said, "No, it's good! Come on, I thought you were a risk-taker! You have to try it!"

That's it. He challenged me. I had no choice. And before I could stop myself, I blurted, "I am a risk-taker. I'll eat the whole thing."

(Insert foot in mouth)

Instead, I had to insert the first bite of the burrito freak show. I pulled down the top-half of the foil and went straight for the money-bite, getting some hot dog, some mashed potatoes, some shrimp salad, and some veggies all at once to be sure to experience the full flavor this burrito had to offer. I was afraid, but part of me thought that maybe there's something magical that happens when these foods come together. Maybe there's a chance that for some reason it's really, really good.

Nope.

I gagged.

Then spit the bite in the trash can.

It wasn't even the mashed potato-onion-tomato-shrimp salad combo that got me. It was the key ingredient of the rubbery hot dog that I couldn't handle. It had to go.

"Ubbe, this is disgusting," I grimaced. "I can't have this hot dog in here. It's already weird enough. You want the hot dog?"

"Oh yeah, I'll take it," Ubbe said as he walked toward me.

"Sorry, I already bit it," I mumbled as I grabbed the butchered end of the hot dog and attempted to pull it from the burrito. Problem. It was stuck. Probably suctioned down with great force from the sticky mess within. I wiggled it around. No dice.

"Um. I can't get it," I said and I looked at Ubbe. For some reason, I then held out my burrito in a 'you want to try?' gesture.

The next thing I knew, Ubbe was knuckle-deep in my burrito, attempting to wrestle the hot dog from the obstinate grip of mashed potatoes and shrimp salad. A small crowd of my teammates began to gather round as the mixture started to ooze through fissures in the burrito's thin shell. I looked up at Ubbe again and I think we both realized how ludicrous this situation was. He pulled his fingers out, sans hot dog, and apologized. I laughed.

But now, the hot dog had challenged me too. It was coming out, dammit, and I was going to eat that burrito like I said I would. I went back into the burrito, managed a steady handle on the hot dog, and pulled--nice, and slow. I heard an "ew" from one of my teammates.

"I got it! I got it out!" I said proudly.

"Ha!" laughed Ubbe, taking the hot dog in hand. "It's a girl!"

That's funny, if I had to choose a sex for a hot dog it would have been a boy...wait, what am I saying?

Comparing the removal of a hot dog from my burrito to the miracle of life did not increase its edible appeal.

But, as promised, I ate it. Right down to the last horrible bite of sloppy tortilla. It was disgusting, and my stomach still hadn't recovered the next day, and I still get the chills when I think about that first bite, but it was all worth it. My friend Elise likes to say, "Do it for the story," encouraging ridiculous and spontaneous behavior simply for the fact that recounting the ridiculous and spontaneous behavior makes it all worthwhile. Imagine if I hadn't eaten that burrito of champions. I would have no material for my blog!

I will always try new things, at least once. Sometimes this leads to regret, but it's better than the regret of never trying at all.

What about you, reader? What interesting food did you dare try?

The Saga Continues...

A ship crosses by, as seen from my apartment.








New Feature: Question for the Reader

I've decided to make a new feature on my blog. Every time I make a post, I'll have a question for the reader. This may lead to only responses from my mom and dad but perhaps there are some other readers out there who would also like to join in the fun (I would still love to hear your answers, Mom and Dad! ;) ). Go ahead and respond in the comments section, and feel free to be honest, dishonest, creative, witty, funny, whatever!

Question for the Reader: If you could choose to do any profession for a year, and you could do it anywhere in the world, what would you do and where would you go? And why?


An Ice-Breaker
(Kids, Don't Try This at Home)

Since we had the day off from soccer, Asa and Eve invited me to join them in an amazing and relaxing trip to Mariebad, which is a spa/natatorium equipped with a water slide, a fun pool, a lap pool, a Turkish sauna, a regular sauna, a hot tub, etc. There is also an outdoor pool, one that is accessible by swimming from the fun pool, under the wall, and to the outside. Keep in mind that we are in Finland. It's not warm here. But, I reluctantly followed my teammates under the wall to a spectacular view of a beach and the sea. For those of you who have been to the Shedd Aquarium in Chicago, it reminded me of the view from the dolphin pool and the way the water seems to extend into Lake Michigan. While we were out there, I couldn't help but shiver. Naturally. It's really cold. As I did, Asa asked me if I had ever heard of winter bathing.

"Winter bathing? No, what's winter bathing?"

Ok, so remember when you were a kid and perhaps you were on vacation, staying in a hotel with a swimming pool and hot tub, and your brothers dared you to sit in the hot tub for 5 minutes and then run and jump into the big pool? The big, cold one? Yeah. Or maybe you've done something like my younger cousins, brothers, and I like used to do when we'd go skiing in Whistler, Canada, and we'd sit in the hot tub after a long day and then create a how-long-can-you-sit-in-the-snow challenge clad only in a bathing suit? Well, I bet you thought you were pretty tough, huh. So did I. But this is nothing compared to the practice of winter bathing.

Up here in the Scandinavian countries, winter bathing is actually quite common. First, you should know that sitting in the sauna is a very significant part of the Finnish culture. So when people winter bathe, they begin by relaxing in the hot, steamy comfort of a sauna. Next, it's time for the crazy part. They head outside and because all of the lakes and inlets are frozen over, they must go outfitted with some sort of jackhammer or saw. Then, and I'm not kidding, they bust a hole in the ice. And this isn't necessarily thin ice--we're talking up to half a meter of thickness here. Do you see where this is going? After draping some sort of rope ladder into the hole, the Finn will then lower his or her self into the ice-cold water. Not all the way though, just up to the shoulders. After a nice, refreshing dip, it's back to the sauna.

Does this seem crazy to anyone else!?

Eve said that she used to do it twice a week! But what about hypothermia? Well, Asa explained that because you go right back into the sauna, it's not problem. In fact, apparently winter bathing is actually very good for your skin and blood pressure, it builds up your immune system, and even seems to cure rheumatoid arthritis pains. And it's a totally revitalizing experience. So, next time I need a little pick-me-up, I'll know what to do.




Sssssshhhloppy Joes!

Yes, I am quoting the lunch-lady from the hit movie Billy Madison ("Lady, you're scaring us."). It seems to be fairly understood in the American culture that eating the school lunch could be risky business. Unfortunately, due to the fact that I am one of the biggest procrastinators you will ever meet, I never got around to making my own lunch for school and was subsequently forced, as my middle-school friends know, to become a frequent eater of the school lunch. Yes, I dared the suspicious tacos, the unsightly vegetables, and may have even tried the mystery meat.

What does this have to do with me being an American in Aland, you ask?

Well, this past Friday I was asked to go to one of the local schools to speak English with some of the kids and answer any questions they had about futbol or America. The 10, 11, and 12-year-olds that I visited were shy and cute and really fun to be around. Most warmed up to me after some time and felt more comfortable to ask me questions about my family, what I like to do in my spare time, and if I have ever met George W. Bush or Britney Spears (what excellent representation our country has!).

Now what I want to know is why the American school system isn't designed more like this one. This school is set up as follows: the students, in grades 1-6, arrive at 8:30. They pour into their respective classrooms where they begin their lessons for the next hour and a half. And then they get to go outside and play for 10-15 minutes. After that, there is another 45 minutes of class. And then they get to go outside and play for 10-15 minutes. 45 more minutes of class, and then it is time for lunch. Which brings me back to my opener.

This lunch is nothing like the stereotypical American school lunch.

Each table, adorned in placemats, awaits the students with a freshly-made meal, hot and ready to be served. On Friday, after going through the salad-bar line, I found at our table a crock of delicious-smelling beef and vegetable stew, made to be poured atop steamy white rice. It was a real meal, and it was fantastic. At this school, no one brings their lunch. And if eating school lunch is cool, "consider me Miles Davis."

After lunch, the kids go back outside and play for 10-15 minutes, and the rest of the day, until 3:30, follows in suit. 45 minutes of class, 10-15 minutes of play. The theory in all the play time is that this is the only way that students at these ages can really focus for 45 minutes at a time. And I agree! Oh, how different my life would have been were I a child in Aland!

Here are a few pictures from my visit:







Jumping rope with the kids!














Apparently bunny ears are universal.














Sollett!!!






Ok, well I don't think I'm spelling that correctly, but "sollett" is an insulting Swedish term that you would yell at an opposing goalkeeper in order to "talk trash." It means that the goalkeeper stops about as much as a sieve (she might get the big stuff but the rest just goes on through). Of course, I didn't know that.

Meet Emelie.

No, she's not the one flying gracefully through the air.



Emilie, in addition to Asa, is one of our goalkeepers. She's about 6 feet tall and knows what she's doing in the net. She just joined us from Sweden on Thursday and will be a very valuable asset to this team.

On Friday, at my first practice with Emelie, the final drill of the day was to shoot on the goalies. Since "skjut" ("shoot" in English)is one of the only words I know how to say in Swedish, my head coach Robban thought it would be funny if I approached Asa and Emelie by saying, "I'm ready to skjut on you now, sollett!" I actually thought I was complimenting them. "Sollett," sounds like "solid." I thought I was telling them that they were solid goalkeepers.

Wrong.

Emelie walked towards me.

"What did you say?" she asked in a slightly-incredulous tone.

I hesitated. "Um, I'm ready to skjut on you now...sollett...?"

This was when I realized that it doesn't mean "solid."

Emelie stepped right up to my face and towered over me as I skrank in her shadow. She held out out her arms as if to say "Bring it on!" and then let me have it in a slur of Swedish. She gave me a little shove to make sure I knew I had insulted her.

But I looked up at her face, and she was smiling.

Phew!

I think the relief showed on my face and everyone had a big laugh. It was just a little bit of friendly trash-talk.

Thanks, Robban.

I think Emelie and I are actually going to be good friends--the kind that loves to give each other a hard time. Unfortunately, the poor thing got a bad ankle sprain in practice on Saturday.
Take care and feel better, Emelie!!




That's all for today. Don't forget to answer the Question for the Reader!
Godnatt!

Pictures!

Here are some pictures that I have taken so far on Aland. Enjoy!

To your left is the view from my balcony. Not bad, huh?










These next three are some pics that I took as we drove out of the main town and into the country. There are inlets everywhere and, as you can see, they are beautiful.

Next are a few pics taken out in the country. I really love the red roads.

I thought this barn was especially picturesque.

This a picture that I took of one of the photographers. Ha-Ha! How does eet feel?




We came out here for a photo shoot, but I had to take some pictures of my own.

Yeah, I live here.

This picture was taken at a port just down the street from my apartment.

For now, uploading these photos is slow and frustrating, so I gotta stop. More to come later!

The Bread Crust Organization

Finland's Next Top Model?

I wanted to let you all know that I am planning to run for Finland's Next Top Model. Feel free to have a look at this link to get an idea of what my portfolio would look like:
http://www.nyan.ax/sport/?news_id=32231&news_instance=2

Yes. It's ok to laugh. There are two main newspapers in Aland, and one of the photographers, who had the "privelege" of getting the first picture of the American futbol player, chose that one. Really? Reeeaally? Hold on, sir, I'm not sure you got all my chins in there.

Ok, so maybe it's not that bad, but I think we can all agree (or at least hope) that there could have been a better picture somewhere in that roll of film...? I was actually hoping no one would see these pictures, but as one of you has now called me out as being "Googleable," I thought they might turn up anyways.

Down to Bizz-nas

It's time to tell you what has happened since my initial post. Well...not that much. I have spent most of the time in my apartment. It's been nice, really, having absolutely nothing to do. The majority of it I have spent reading. I luckily purchased Atlas Shrugged before I came here, so it is bound to keep me occupied in all the downtime. Victoria and Matt, I'm ready for a discussion anytime.

I did have my first practice today, and it has totally energized me. I am so happy to be on a team once again. God I love playing this sport. It felt so good to be back at a competative, gritty practice. It was great to run to exhaustion and fire shots at the goal. They're paying me to do this? Well I love my job and I have no question that I am where I am supposed to be.

The team is very good. They all have an excellent first touch and play very smart, composed, 1 and 2 touch soccer. I expected this coming in. I can't say that there are any Parissa Eyorokons or Lauren Masons out there (although there is a field player that is roughly the height and exudes the toughness of Lauren Mason...yeah, win a header against that girl), but there is definite talent. It's not flashy talent, necessarily, but it's quick-and-consistent-decision-making talent. They know what to do with a ball on their feet and they make it happen. They are also very young. Most of the girls on the team are between the ages of 17 and 21. Oh, by the way, I have a 38-year-old teammate. What a baller! I haven't actually had the chance to play with her yet but have been told by everyone that she is incredible. And I guess so, since she played for the Finnish National Team in the '90s. And you thought Brett Favre was impressive. She's still truckin'!

As far as personal performance at practice, I think I did pretty well. My Purdue coach told me before I left to just play the game I always play. Be myself. So I was. The head coach for Aland United is not as proficient in English as the assisstant coach, but he did manage to tell me, "you are quick defender who ees ready for da' fight." Translation? Hmmm...through hand and body gestures I figured out that he was telling me that I close down players readily and perhaps with tenacity? I don't know, but he was complimenting me, and it was nice. Today's practice also made me realize that I still have to work on all the things I have always struggled with in soccer...playing quickly, looking over my shoulder, turning if I have space, etc. Especially in this environment, where the girls excel in each of those things. I look forward to tomorrow's practice. Did I mention that I really love playing soccer again?

Let's Talk Swedish

All of you should know that my brother Aaron has a desire to learn how to say, "The cheese is old and moldy" in every language. Don't judge. We all have hobbies. Of course, A-Rob has already learned how to say it in Swedish in preparation for his visit to Aland (how else is he supposed to get around?). But since all of the people here constantly discuss the difficulty of the Finnish language, I am going to find out how to say "the cheese is old and moldy" in Finnish. Then, A, when you come here, you can reeeaaally impress people. Just picture it:

"Hello. The cheese is old and moldy."

Awe-stricken response:
"Yes, yes it certainly is."

But seriously, I really, really want to learn Swedish. Everyone here does know some basic English but spends most of the time speaking in Swedish. It would be nice to have an idea of what the topic of everyday conversation is. So far I know how to say hello, good-bye, good, tree, tall tree, girl, that girl, and light. It's a slow process. Although, the language barrier does provide for a few funny moments. For example, today our team mom, Monika (who has taken excellent care of me thus far), told me that she would not be at practice tonight because she had a meeting.

"Have you heard of Da Bread Crust Organization?" she asked.

Hmmm. Well she does like to cook. Should I have heard of The Bread Crust Organization?

"No," I shrugged. "What sort organization is it?"

"We help peeple."

"Oh, like volunteer work?"

"Ya. Bread Crust."

...what an intersting name for a volunteer organization. Then it dawned on me.

"Oh!! Red Cross! The Red Cross Organization!! Yes, yes I've heard of The Red Cross!!"

Go ahead, reader, say "Red Cross" to yourself with your best Swedish accent. You'll hear it, too.


Hej da (good-bye) for now!

First Impressions: Welcome to Aland

Welcome
Hello, everyone. I'd like to begin my first experience in blogging with the very poignant words of my former teammate and trailblazer Annette Kent:

Now What?

A thick piece of paper--the kind with deep ridges and abrupt edges--says that I have completed the requirements for my Master's degree. A stack of loan confirmations does the same. At this point in time, young people get jobs, sit behind desks, and strap up for the long haul. In essence, they grow up.

Me? I'm still 12 years-old, running around the playgroud, chasing a feeling that can only be described as unapologetic joy.

So, I'll board this plane and put my "career" on hold for this one last time. Because it's important. Not important like life and death. But important like regret and opportunity. I'll play this last season and even if I never score, never do anything noteworthy, I'll sleep better at night. Because nothing haunts you like knowing you could play with the best and didn't.


Okay, so there are some obvious differences between Annette, who played for many seasons in the highest league in Sweden, and me. I don't have my Master's and I'm not sure if I'm playing among the best (I'll let you know after my first practice on Monday). What I do share with Annette is a deep passion for the sport of soccer and the "unapologetic joy" I feel when I strap on my boots and step onto the field. Only those who have lived it can understand how it feels to crack a shot, or sell a defender with a move practiced hundreds of times, or play the perfectly-timed through-ball, or win a header over a taller opponent...
Those of you who have been there understand that the list goes on. That is why I am here, on this small island in the middle of the Bothnian Gulf, where the people speak Swedish and are excited to introduce an American to their culture.

This blog will tell you about my life in Aland. It is not meant to be self-indulgent but simply a way to keep you all updated. Feel free to read it or not read it. I'll try to keep verbosity to a minimum.

Where the hell is Aland?
Since you asked...Aland, which should actually be written with an "Ångström sign" over the 'A' (it's the little circle over the 'A' in the word "Ångström," itself...savvy?), is located off the west coast of Finland. I'll spare you the history lesson but though it is officially a part of Finland, the island is actually closer to Sweden and has the official language of Swedish. Most people here do not even speak Finnish and many have commented on the difficulty of that language. When I previously read about the island before coming here, it was described as a peaceful and beautiful place. My first impression agrees. Though it is cold and windy, the first day was sunny. The island is covered in gently sloping hills where cows and horses graze between evergreen woods. The roads are red and wind into the capital city, Mariehamn, between pastel-colored homes and shops. On the wide sidewalks you'll see bikers, people walking dogs, and many emo teenagers rocking Chuck Taylors, skinny jeans, choppy haircuts, and piercings. Yes, it's so Euro. And, as expected, the people have fine, straight, light-colored hair and blue eyes. Since all the guys back home were wondering, I'll go ahead and confirm that Scandinavian girls are as pretty as their reputation claims.

I am here to play for the local women's professional soccer team, Aland United.

My Arrival
Forgive me if this entry grows too long, but some of you may be interested to hear about my arrival in Aland and what I have done here so far.

I landed in Stockholm yesterday around 11 am (which is 5 am Indiana time. As of tomorrow, when the time changes here for daylight savings, there will be a 7-hour difference instead of 6). I was picked up by the owner of our team, Mr. Jan-Ove Fellman. He is a very pleasant but quiet man that speaks English quite well. We drove an hour to a port where we could drive the car directly onto the large boat that would take us to Aland. Mr. Fellman took me to meet the captain, which, I discovered, was a privelege that not many are granted. It was very pretty to see Stockholm from the windows in the captain's ward. The boat ride took about 2 1/2 hours. What's hilarious is that apprently the press from Aland was waiting for me on my arrival. Some passengers walk off the boat, while others drive. We were driving, but the press expected me to walk. I later received a call from my coach saying that the press had been waiting and were disappointed not to catch me on my arrival. Really? Thanks, but someone should tell them that my being here is not as exciting as they may think. I guess my presence is interesting to the people of Aland mainly because I am the only American currently living here. Plus, I'm a futboler. That helps.

After the boat ride, Mr. Fellman took me to my apartment. It is on the 4th floor (which is as high as buildings go) and does not have an elevator. This is not a big deal unless you have to lug up two 70-lb suitcases. After we managed to get them to my apartment, I was greeted by my assisstant coach, Ubbe, and Monika, a mother of one of the players. I guess she is considered the "team mom." My apartment is far better than I expected and I am thankful that they are so willing to take care of me. It is a one-bedroom, one-bathroom place with a nice kitchen and sitting room. There is a balcony that extends the length of the apartment, from which I have a fantastc view of the Baltic. Monika decorated place with cute curtains, flowers on the window sill, and a nice welcome-card signed by the team. I have Internet access and about 8 channels on the TV--including channels in English like CNN, Animal Planet, and MTV. So, don't worry, I'll still be able to catch up on the presidential campaign and the tumultuous life of Lauren Conrad. Monika also put a little food in the fridge to hold me over. The food, by the way, seems pretty similar to the type of things we eat. Fresh meat, fish, fruit, cheese, yogurt, and salad--to name a few items. Tomorrow we are going to a Thai restaurant.

After meeting my coach and Monika (both incredibly personable, by the way. Ubbe is excellent in English as he has lived in the US for two short stints in his life), they left me to unpack and get some sleep. I was exhausted!

Day 2
I'll try to keep this short. Three girls from my team met me at 12:45 to take me to lunch and to meet with some reporters. Carro, Sarah, and Becci (ages 18, 21, and 17) were incredibly friendly, just as everyone else I have met so far. Carro is the best with English, though the others do fine. They generally spoke Swedish while I was around but did their best to include me in their conversations. They took me to a crowded cafe where I had an excellent shrimp salad while we waited for the scheduled reporter and photographer to arrive. Once they did, the photographer began snapping pictures of me right there as I sat at the table. Needless to say, I felt a little uncomfortable, espcially when the photographer asked me to stand up, walk away from him, then walk toward him as he snapped pictures. You try doing that with tons of people watching. I am sure that the final product cannot be good.

The girls then took me to our home field. It is a very modest setup with no signs or scoreboard, few bleachers, and a small lockerroom. I don't care, though. I am just happy to have a field again.

A Quick Reflection
So, how do I feel about living in Aland? I'm not sure I could explain all that I am feeling. I am excited to start practice on Monday. Sometimes, I am nervous--with all the attention I am getting as the American player, I am afraid that I will not be able to meet their expectations. Other times, I feel confident and restless, eager to begin. I am also afraid that I may be lonely in Aland. Though the girls do understand a lot of basic English, it may be difficult not to be able to make jokes or have in-depth conversations with people because of the barrier (Kira, this is where you come in). I forgot to mention that the coaches would like to sign me up for classes in Swedish, which I would be more than happy to pursue. I also worry that I may be bored in Aland. There is not much to do besides play soccer for a few hours a day. In the summer there are water sports (yay, I will not be without wakeboarding or water skiing this year!), but this sort of encompassses the activities. Luckily, I brought a lot of books and there is a library on the island with selections in English. I am sure that once I make friends boredom will not be as big of an issue. I also asked the coaches if I should get a second job, and they thought that would be a good idea. They suggested picking fruit. Haha. I'm down.

Being here alone is a bit scary, but Annette was right. It's about regret and opporunity. One thing I know for sure is that this is going to be the experience of a lifetime. I traveled alone to live on a small island in the Baltic Sea as the only American where they speak Swedish to play professional soccer and pick fruit...
Not bad.