Prelude No. 18 (in B-major) OR academy

December OR theoretikos ökologie

When we last left our hero, he was busy philosophising the theory of science. His philosophising took him everywhere – the zeniths! the nadirs! – all from the comfort of his armchair. In the end, he concluded that nothing worth knowing is worth not knowing, and vice versa. I leave you, now, with our hero, in whose hand the pen lies.

This is how things stood:

pass: Advanced ecology

pass: Philosophy of science

Finally, my toughest challenge: theoretically ecology. Lectures were held in the smallest, remotest room in ecologiehuset. They needn’t have been any larger, though, since only five of us were taking the course. How best to describe my colleagues? I noticed Susannah first - the only girl. She was long and pointed and, I later discovered, of Polish origin. Her prodigious biological and ecological knowledge was revealed by degrees during the course. Arben, who was Swedish, was never without a leather jacket. How can a person own a leather jacket and understand mathematicks and statisticks? I avoided the paradox. Torben, clean and curved, was German. He was my closest friend during those weeks, although I didn’t share his enthusiasm for soil. The fifth member of our quintet was an enthusiastic Norwegian man whose name I have since forgotten. He was excitable – charged like a cation. Jörgen Ripa, our lecturer, was personable and professional. He had a profound forehead, thick brows, and deep eyes – a not inconsiderable dwarf.

Simply, theoretical ecology is not simple. Nevertheless, I resolved to understand it (my Swedish sojourn, after all, was tied by the threads of scholarship). I do not wish to bore you with the details of December and January’s labours, except to say that I have never studies so hard in my life. Ah, but what bliss! Can you imagine – seated at your desk, pen and paper illuminated by the light of candles, walls bathed in red, yellow, and orange, while outside the snow falls. In the final days before my exam, everything fell into place.

Part of my pass belongs to Virginia Diaz-Cerdan, whose room I studied in; part of my pass belongs to Bon Iver, whose love I fell in.

Interlude OR rememories

It is a thrilling tale; I wish to do it justice.

Prelude No. 16 (in A-minor) OR I'm the king of the world!

December 4-7 OR NO-WAY

I can’t remember if I’ve ever been on a cruise. A cruise seems like the kind of thing that I would remember, so I probably haven’t. Although, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve forgotten. For instance, every year I forget that my younger has a birthday. (Fortunately, this excuses me from ever having to buy him a present.) Now, however, I can remember with certainty that I have been on a cruise from Copenhagen to Oslo, and back again.

Marta suggested the idea nearly two months ago. Andy, she said, you are coming with me to the bank. I am? Yes, and bring 1000SEK. 1000SEK! Don’t worry; you’ll get 1 krona change. So, nearly two months later, I was on an ocean-liner. What an impressive ship! I travelled from Lund to Copenhagen in a bus with Can and John*. As our bus pulled into the harbour, we passed a small, pathetic, grubby boat. Like Titanic, my heart sank... No. That can’t be our boat! 1 krona saved for nothing! Then, as the greying sun descended on Denmark, the brilliant lights of The Spirit of Scandinavia illuminated the harbour. Like Titanic II: The Revenge, my heart rose. Later, I learned that the small, pathetic, grubby boat was sailing to Estonia. That seems about right.

Our cabins were on the lowest level—the fiesta deck. I was sharing with John, Marta, and Ulrike. Like gentlemen, John and I shot-gunned the top bunks. Our cabin was deceptively small. Deceptively because it was actually smaller than it appeared, and it appeared really small. Small places are usually a problem for me, because I’m so muscular. Fortunately, John is shaped like a linear equation, so between us we occupied two common or garden persons.

The boat was fantastically excessive, which is my favourite kind of thing. On the first night, Can, John and I treated ourselves to a private viewing of UP in the private cinema. It was a very pleasant man-date until five Danish toddlers seated themselves in the front row. UP is a beautiful film, although it does contain scenes that may frighten young children. During the frightening scenes, the children were comforted by their parents. Similarly, Can and John comforted one another. At least, that’s what I thought they were doing. Later that night, on the dance floor, we kept on with the force and didn’t stop ‘til we’d gotten enough.

The Spirit of Scandinavia pierced its way through the Kattegat Sea. There is nothing quite as frightening as leaning over the stern rail of a ship thinking, if I fell, no one would ever find me. The sea, churned white, dissolves into a cold, black desert. So this is how Kate Winslet felt. The land closed in on us, and suddenly we were in Oslo. We arrived at 9am. We departed at 4pm. Seven hours in Oslo = rain + a tiger + ice dancing + amigos + a royal palace - John + Munch + a scream + walking + statues + Barack Obama + fake Obama - Barack Obama + phone + music + Burger King - 100NOK + cold hands. (Also, Oslo > Copenhagen, but Stockholm > Oslo.)

I don’t recall what I ate for dinner the second night. I do, however, recall learning a new drinking game, although not the actual drinking game. And then... My new camera is amazing; I explore the ship—swimming pool, duty free shops, restaurants, cafes, bars, cinema; Bailey’s, goes down smooth; David ties his shoelace, and a dance is born; outside the wind is how-oo-ling; I am Jack Dawson; DJ lethal plays the same song twice; my head spins; the Spanish inquisition; in my cabin, at last, I close my eyes. A moment later, it is morning, and someone is hammering the door.

During the night, someone stole a pair of shoes from the boutique, and vandalised the cabins. The captain, if that’s what she was, was not happy, so she interrogated us (us = 150 Lund University students). We were detained in the Heaven-11 bar, which is also a gaol in the morning. You will not be leaving until the person/persons responsible is/are held responsible. Fortunately, crime never pays, and an hour later, we were back in Lund.

Incidentally, my new shoes didn't come with a receipt. Crimes never pays, except sometimes.

* Can and John are homophones.