I Am Sweden

One of my celebratory activities regarding my arrival in Sweden has been to go hiking in the mountains (I would classify these more as mounds in the ground, or blips on an otherwise level plain, but, no matter).

Sweden

There was an interesting group dynamic (in our little posy of three), each with our own self-proclaimed titles.

Sweden

The Moron

A self-diagnosis, which normally I would classify as highly dangerous, but in this case, I thought to be rather accurate. Especially when he told the story of how:

“When I was little, I thought that all gingers were retarded…”

Sweden in summer

If that’s not a moronic thing to think, and then to retell to your friends (one of whom was Ranga) years later, then I don’t know what is.

Sweden

The Ranga

Obviously originating from the hair colour that was similar in hue to that of an orangutan. This title of course meant that many a conversation ended with:

“Oh, but you’re a Ranga, so you have no soul,” (idea from South Park)

Norway

OR

Norway

"Oh, but Rangas are retarded so your argument is void," (idea from the Moron)

Sweden

Norway

I, was, alternatively, the Swedish persona in the group. I represented profound peace and modesty in the situation.

Norway

I did not make any Ranga jokes, despite sore temptation.

I did not look down on the Ranga, because he was Ranga.

I did not give him with any special treatment despite his handicap.  

Norway

I did not hold it against him that he is lactose intolerant as well, meaning that, after our cheesy dinner the previous night, he was letting rip every 2 minutes.

Packs

I am Sweden.