Ingrid and I noticed recently that our blogging styles are approaching each other. Ingrid then starting singing, “My blog is your blog and your blog is my blog” to the melody of Whitney Houston’s “My love is your love”. So it is only natural that Ingrid guest-blogs about Life At the Blue Table.
Until I find an apartment, I reside at Helen’s crib, the Swedish enclave of Hamburg, the place of warm hospitality and Philosophisches-Duett-im-Schlafrock. I feel like her housewife. Since rents are so high in Hamburg I’m using all rooms to full capacity. I’m rotating rooms every half hour and right now I’m on the balcony (I’m also listening to the radio so that the public-radio-and-tv-fee [GEZ] finally pays off). The only problem is the Dutch washing machine. I don’t know what open, wash and spin means in Dutch.
Next to a tangling Dutch washing machine, one encounters even more astonishing objects.
When cooking at Helen’s place, there is no need for forks or knives. No, she’s not a savage viking. Once crossing the doorstep, one enters a sovereign territory, loyal to the crown. Each visitor can go on a treasure hunt for objects related to the Swedish royal family. I wonder if the Swedish embassy holds as many svea artifacts as they can be found here. This lunch I ate with my fingers to not destroy this royal plate.