The picnic table barely fits in the kitchen, and as soon as you add some Swedes and Germans—who prepare genuine, well-balanced meals—there’s no counter space to assemble a PB&J. Not that we only eat childish sandwiches, we also enjoy Ramen Noodles, or oatmeal with peanut butter. “Do all Americans add peanut butter to the porridge?” one incredulous Swede asks. Well, do we?
The hypoglycemic do. I’m just along for the ride, it’s like when your parents go out and let you have pancakes for dinner, at first Ramen Noodles sounded like a delicious idea. The other night a pack of Germans made mussels in a Thai coconut sauce. More than the cockroaches, the threat of a nightly throw-down keeps us away from the kitchen during the normal dinner rush. It’s only 6:02pm and dinner’s already a distant memory.
Yesterday I went to the National Maritime Museum and it was awesome. There was so much I couldn’t take it all in. My favourite exhibit was a replica of life in steerage. The dark and dingy room was cramped with bunks and the creaking and groaning of wood could be heard all around. Man, I thought, they really hit the nail on the head, my legs even seem a little unsteady. As I looked at a humble wax figure, I noticed the floorboards creeping up the wall. Oh my goodness, they even duplicated the heaving floor!
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