Herrang Diaries or Punch Me in the Stomach: Part 2

Volunteering

Heaps of people are already seated in the driveway of Folkets Hus when I get there a titch before 9am. Impressive. Clearly they had all filched their lunches at the breakfast buffet faster than I had managed.

ID cards and fluorescent t-shirts are handed out, people in charge introduced, then the crucial business of divvying up into teams under team leaders. I'm in the Ice Cream Parlour (ICP) team, which right now sounds totally fun. We're a group of 8. There's one Russian guy and Lithuanian girl, then the rest are Swedish girls a lot younger than me.

Before I start checking if they've finished highschool, our manager introduces herself. Helena is bubbly and fun and is totally pulling off the 80s look. She has a monobrow, but manages to make it look super cool. I didn't even think that possible. I consider one myself for about 5 seconds, then aah I remember I'm not Swedish. They just get away with a lot more!

She's great, the other girls seem nice, the job of baking doesn't seem too hard, it all seems like a fine way to spend a week.

After training wraps, I see about my booked accommodation. The bed that I got assigned is miles away. In the woods. Past the tents and the caravans. It has an outdoor shower, and is costing 2000SEK for the week. i.e. a bajillion dollars. When you book, there's no online options, so you just get whatever they confirm in the email.

I explain to reception when it's open, that this isn't ideal, is there anything else? I am mentally prepared to grovel, snivel and plead. They look, and Yes! Yes there is! right next to the school! and it's 1300SEK! Woo!

Such is Herrang, that I have to feel a flutter at the prospect of a private indoor shower.

Giddy with my new place, cycling on my newly rented bike, meeting my new Russian roommate, I'm thinking things are looking up.

They did look up. For about 5 minutes. Then they looked doowwwn, waaay dowwwn.

I find out volunteering for me involves 10+ hr days next to the oven. Alternatively punching out banana bread and choc chip cookies. In between, bussing tables, washing dishes and mopping floors. Lunch hour would be spent napping, sending in laundry, checking mail and finally, eating a ham and cheese toast--the most lunch-like thing at the ICP.

Which brings me to...

Food
One of the benefits I guess of ICP was the food. Whilst others were eating microwave mac n' cheese or cooking on those tiny camp stoves, I had all the ham and cheese toasts, banana bread, ice cream and cookies I could filch :D

Banana bread of Dooooooooom

That combined with aforementioned deep-fried meatballs, were, culinarily-speaking, sitting pretty for Herrang standards. I did try the camp restaurant once. It's misleadingly called Yum Yum, and set in the school canteen. On the night I was there, they served what looked and tasted like reheated frozen fish fillets, accompanied by a pile of shredded cabbage and, bizarrely, whole olives and canned mushrooms.

I'm not expecting Michelin stars, but for 95SEK/USD$15/Rm50, it's hard to resist the urge to go in there and show them what they can do with the shredded cabbage. I totally would have too if I already wasn't nodding off into it.

Which brings me to..

Sleep
This was one of the things I was told the truth about: "Hooo, hope you're not intending to sleep. Wait til after!" And it was totally, miserably, cripplingly, true. All the regulars told me to sleep from 9pm-2am, then the best dancing is between 2 and 5.. by which time I figured just keep going until work starts at 7. I started counting sleep in minutes, as in "40min at lunch, plus an hour 40 after dinner, before the show at 9pm.."

It's not a schedule I've been able to manage since I was 18, so unsurprisingly shit started to happen...

1) Wore a skirt and biked to work one morning. Misjudged the breaking on the balding tires and managed to do a crash landing into the bike rack. Escaped with a few bruises and scratches. NOT helped by the group of lounging Russians nearby.

I got lucky with the bikes actually, one girl fell off the back when the rack broke, and another guy broke a rib when his chain came off (!)

2) Managed to successfully burn myself a bunch of times on oven racks

3) Sent just a blank sms to my parents. Freaked them out big time. I remember starting it, but I just ran out of batteries and keeled over into bed.

4) Accidentally put melted butter instead of room-temperature into cookie mix, and none of them held shape. So ended up with THREE gigantic, cookie-tray-sized cookies. I had to re-do it, but the other volunteers were super happy I was such a crap baker :p

That's like an avalanche of bitching, but in the end, I did meet some fun people, and I did dance more than I have in probably the last year and I did do Swedish karaoke; how many people can say that? I also do a mean banana bread, which I don't want to do for a long time, so don't ask, ok? :p

Finally, some truth

I realise a lot of times travel is a bit masochistic. If you don't want to be outside your comfort zone, you should just stay home. But there are different levels that you can prepare yourself for. And I've decided for Herrang volunteering, you need to be near the top at Mr Park.

Mr Park was my tae kwon do teacher when I was 17. Lessons were held in a dojo near our local seafood market. It wasn't so much dojo, as a big carpeted hall with some gear stacked at the back. He was like any other Asian uncle, except one thing; hanging near the entrance, was a picture of Mr Park, when he was Mr Korea in the '70s. Oiled and flexing, like a Korean Schwarzenegger. This was the first thing that was pointed out to new students. I nodded to show that I was impressed.

He was now in his 40s, I guessed, with two daughters a bit older than me, and definitely wider round the middle.

At first, he would let his daughters take us, during the punching and kicking exercises. But one day, he took over. Instead of using the pads, he asked us to aim for him. "Go on, punch me in the stomach" he said. When he saw our hesitation, he'd exclaim "I can take it! Come onnnn". So we'd punch him in the stomach until our arms were as jelly-like as his girth.

In conclusion dear reader; Mr Park loved a punch in the stomach and so should you, if you're planning on some volunteering at Herrang.