Fanship a Way of Life

If you think that that American football fans are crazed, wait till a Norwegian biathlon fan greets you with a flag in one hand a beer in the other.
I used to think that extreme fan hood was a distinctly American cultural dysfunction. I’ve discovered similarly crazed fans at the world championships for biathlon, recently held in Ostersund.
This competition marked the end of this season’s Biathlon World Cup Races. For the athletes, it was the culmination a year’s hard work, and the determination of who would be named the world champion of biathlon. (The winner the day I went was a Norwegian by the name of Einer Bjoendalen.) For the town of Ostersund, it was its big moment to shine in the international sporting spotlight.
Fans seized the excuse to eat drink, be merry, wear silly patriotic things and stand outside in very cold weather.
If you are confused as to what biathlon is, you are not alone. The sport combines cross-country skiing and shooting. Depending on the race, competitors will shoot several times from either standing or lying. For every missed shot, competitors take a penalty lap, adding about 25 seconds to their time. This might not sound like much. But in a sport where races are won by a tenth of a second, one missed shot can mean the difference between glory and defeat.
Nothing says party like a cross-country ski race.
The number of fans that turned out for the weeklong series blew my mind. In Alaska, the main people who show up to watch ski races are parents, accompanied by the occasional friend or fellow competitors.
Here biathlon is a big business throughout northern Europe, especially in Germany and Norway. The local newspaper projected that the number of spectators passing though Ostersund during the world champion ships would double the town’s population.
I have yet to see final numbers, but judging by how crowded the little town suddenly became, the newspaper’s prediction looks accurate.
I attended the opening two days of completion. The sky was gray, reminiscent of most February days in Fairbanks. Hordes of Swedish, Norwegian and German fans packed the stadium, joyously waving flags in a plethora of colors. People carried banners with the names of their favorite skiers. Cheers resounded when the competitors made successful shots.
Nearby stood the true fanatic. Judging by looks, he could have been around 90, sporting a face wrinkled from years of snow and sun, yet remarkably spry. He wore a green hat with horns covered in Norwegian pins. A cape made of a Norwegian flag graced his back. In one hand, the fanatic gripped another flag. In the other, a large cowbell, which he used to loud effect regardless of what was going on.
Announcer: “ Bib number 15 is entering the stadium”
“Clang! Clang! Clang!” rattled the old fan.
Announcer: “Bib number 8 is leaving the stadium”
“Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!”
Eventually the incessant cowbell drove my friend and I into the beverage tent.
Extreme fanship’s isn’t solely the domain of drunked men in their mid twenties. As the old fanatic demonstrates, it’s a life long endeavor here.

A Beautiful People

Feb. 6 is set aside as a national day in Sweden, celebrating the Sámi.
The Sámi are Scandinavia’s indigenous people. Archeological digs place their ancestors in the region as early as 9000 BC. Today the Sámi people occupy northern parts of Sweden, Norway, portions of Finland and eastern Russia. The larger community’s population is divided into four groups: north Sámi, south Sámi, Lule Sámi, and east Sámi. Each is known for speaking with a distinct dialect though the language of all is closely related to Finnish.
Ostersund, where I’m attending school, is located in the area that is populated by the south Sámi.
The Sámi have a beautiful and complex culture, the type that inspires jealousy among American’s whose cultural roots are spread thin. In the first written record of their presence, the Roman historian Tacitus described Sámi living a subsistence life style.
Traditionally, they herded reindeer, but few still make their living that way.
Holidays mean food. I love to cook. So when friends invited me to help preparing a traditional national day dinner, I was all for it.
I had no idea what I was in for.
Trying to fit reindeer meat to feed 40 people in to a five-gallon pot is a bit of a logistical problem. The feast prepared with my Sámi friends, David and Inga-Lisa, also included carrots, potato and rutabaga , knickabrod (rye crackers) and klump, which is similar to dumplings.
Once the meat and vegetables started to boil, the aroma was delicious.
Before other guests arrived, David and Inga-Lisa changed into traditional dress. Their colorful clothing, bright reds, blues, greens and yellows, made for a festive atmosphere. It’s apparently possible to tell what type of Sámi someone is by their traditional dress. Comparing Inga-Lisa’s north Sámi attire with David’s south Sámi clothing, I could see subtle differences in decorative patterns and designs.
Inga-Lisa doesn’t speak Sámi. “I wish I did,” she explained. “My parents weren’t allowed to learn it.”
The language deficit is a reminder of the Swedish government’s dark history with respect to her own indigenous people. As part of its efforts to assimilate the Sámi, government policies sought to eradicate the Native language and culture. Other policies led to forced relocations and what amounted to substandard education. Reading about this history, I was reminded of our own government’s treatment of American Indians in the late 1800 and 1900s.
Today, Sámi culture is experiencing a renaissance. People my age are working to keep the culture alive and pass it along to future generations.
The Sámi parliament of Sweden was established in 1993; it governs cultural issues for the Sámi but has no real political power. The Sámi Parliament seems to hold a similar place to Alaska Federation of Natives. Universities in both Sweden and Norway are offering degrees in Sámi language and culture. It is comforting to see the resurgence of Sámi coulter. However all is not perfect, racism still exists and stereotypes persist among the wider Swedish population. Modern Sámi face many of the same obstacles and stereo types as Alaska natives do.
Joining in this effort the Swedish government is now helping to preserve and protect the right of a beautiful people that they spent so long trying destroy.
With the guests present and the food laid upon the table, it was time to eat. There were heaping platters of meat and bright orange carrots, yellow turnips and potatoes. The guests served themselves tentatively at first, trying little bits of the meat and vegetables, they were even less sure of what to expect then I was. The mildness of the meat combined with the almost sweet taste of the carrots surprised me. It was plain simple but absolutely wonderful. As I ate my meal, I pondered my food. The simplicity of the meal was a reflection of the Sámi’s ancient substance lifestyle.

For better or for worse its still school

School is school no matter where you go or how it is organized. I’m not quite sure why, but I thought school would be less monotonous in Sweden.
It’s more confusing. I get lost more; look dazzled or confused more often. But whether it’s delivered in Swedish or English, school still brings more homework and early morning classes.
I was surprised to discover Sweden’s university system is completely different. Classes consist of five-week sessions and there are five of those sessions per semester. (One interesting linguistic note: Semester means vacation in Swedish.)
Students take one class per session. At the end of every session, there is a large exam. If for some outlandish reason you fail, the exam can be repeated at the end of the next session. So on and so forth it goes, through six allowed tries, until you do finally pass.
Exams here seem to cover material in more depth then the finals I faced at University of Alaska Fairbanks.
I told my Swedish flat mates that in the U.S. you get one try at an exam.
“That’s ridiculous,” they cried.
I do like the idea of having the option of retaking finals. Even better, I passed my first one without need for that luxury.
This system has its perks and its drawbacks. I find that it is nice focusing on one thing at a time. There is more knowledge to digest, and less busy work. Learning is very self-directed. For someone like me, who is easily distracted, that requires a lot of discipline. It gets boring at times. I find myself longing for the variety and structure of our American university system.
There is also less time for extended projects, which means less research and no long papers.
For the past 10 weeks, I have been taking “Svensk For Ulanderska Studenter,” or Swedish for foreign students.
It’s been grueling, boring and rewarding all at once.
While I now make some sort of sense in Swedish, I still commonly say, “Kan du saga det en gang till,” (can you say that again) and “Kan du tala langsammare” (can you speak slower). It’s an improvement, but I have a lot of work ahead if I want to be conversational.
Yesterday was my fist day of a new class, it was a familiar scene: Students hunched over their desks hurriedly taking notes as the professor lectured. The one person in the back of the classroom who cant seem to stay awake, counterbalanced by the over-eager student who asks questions just to hear themself talk. Had it not been for the posters in Swedish on the walls of the room, I could have sworn that I was back at UAF in one of the dimly lit rooms in Bunnel building.