The Wiklanders of Gotenborg

My image of Sweden would always be melancholy. Not only because it was pretty cold when I went there in 1997, but also because I would always remember the wonderful time I had visiting a very good friend and former colleague of mine. Her maiden name is Jeanette Ignacio. Nette as we fondly call her migrated to Sweden in 1995. We both left our beloved Jesuit institution that same year. She resigned to move to another country and try her luck there. Me to another organization and try my luck there as well. So our paths diverged, not knowing that I would have the opportunity to one day visit her in her new found home and city.

Actually I did not know where she was until I was about to leave for Norway. When some common friends told me that she is now based in Gotenborg and I saw that it is actually within Sweden, beside Norway where I am supposed to go as well, I found myself writing to her and asking if I can come and visit her. I remember she was so happy to know that I will do that. So we made all the preparations, including applying for a visa to Sweden. So my trip to Sweden was the only personal trip I took back in 1997, sandwiched as it was between an international conference in Lillehammer, Norway and an official trip as well to Belgium.

Gotenborg is Sweden's second largest city (the biggest being Stockholm). It is situated on the west coast with the sea and the archipelago within easy reach. While there, we visited some interesting places such as the Botanical Gardens, the Poseidon Statue and the Museum of Art. Of course, we also went to a shopping mall (quite ordinary looking as well and only two floors) and bought all the things I would not see anywhere in the Philippines. I also remember we went to Carl Johan's Church which was newly renovated and where I prayed solemnly thanking God for His wonderful blessing.

But more than the sites, Gotenborg brings to mind close friends and new friends. I remember for the first time staying at an apartment building, very similar to the HDB buildings here. The apartments there are very ordinary looking from the outside, but quite warm and cozy inside. And they hardly have high rise buildings because they have the space. I also remember their much loved dog which is considered like a son by Jeanette and Leslie, most especially as he has his own room. I also remember this cute little girl, a daughter of a friend of Jeanette and also a Filipina, who can speak Swedish, English and Cebuano, in one go. From her I learned how to say 'Taka' (thank you).

And most importantly, Gotenborg will always bring to mind Jeanette as we talked for hours and hours when I arrived until the next day, alternating between laughing to crying to laughing again, talking about people and stories that we both have heard so many times already before but never tires us to say and hear them again. Towards the end, we gave each other a 'kampay,' (or full toast), not with any Swedish red or white wine, but with the good old Ginebra San Miguel gin that I brought over for her from Manila.

Jeanette has always been known as someone who has a very good sense of humor and can be very naughty as well. Well true to her self, she was that and more as she gave me some wonderful Swedish made stuff like shoes (which I could hardly use in a very tropical country as they are meant for winter temperature), a jacket which I was able to use in Belgium and a book that she said I would certainly use when I am married and trying my best to have a baby.

All these things I have either given away to some other friends or thrown away because of wear and tear, except the red colored book, which up to now is still in its original cover of newspaper and hidden inside a nondescript envelope to belie its real content. I remember she told me that this book should only be shown to my future husband on our first night together. As a true friend, I am keeping my promise to her.

The last image of Gotenborg I still carry in my heart is that of Jeanette shedding tears on her husband's shoulders as she looks longingly at me as I enter the immigration area of the Goteborg Landvetter airport.