As I’ve already alluded to in my previous post, this weekend was Valborg. The festivities started on Thursday with Kvalborg, the day-long pre-Valborg party which consisted of a large amount of barbecue, beers, and me trying to steal Martin’s bicycle but just falling down instead. I wish there had been video, because I’d sure be pleased to see myself looking so much of a fool. On the whole of things, though, I think I kept myself better composed than the majority of the Flogsta population. Others were falling down in the street, which might sound dangerous if the Flogsta buildings didn’t exist in such an exclusive bubble. I also managed to avoid having beer poured on my head, which was the unfortunate case for a few of my friends. I believe Martin remarked that his clothes were probably a larger percentage alcohol than cloth. After the loudest Flogsta scream sounding out around ten o’clock, I, as I often do, passed out early. Well, not right after. I think I managed a few more hours, although the plan was to wake up early for champagne breakfast at my friend Nathan’s corridor the next morning around 7 or 8. This did not happen.
Instead, hangovers all around seemed to get the better of us and we didn’t make it out until about ten in the morning for the boat races. This was, of course, accompanied by the planned and traditional champagne and strawberry breakfast. After an hour or two of boats, Martin, the Turkish gang, and I wandered off to Ekonomikumparken for the big picnic (for lack of a better word). I’d been smart enough to stash along a sandwich and nommed the living daylights out of it while we all sat around in a massive crowd, listening to the live bands playing, and still drinking. While many of the others wandered off to the Nations for the champagne race (basically just throwing champagne over each other), I stuck around at the park with Mar, Alvarro and a few of the other Spaniards. I didn’t last long there, wandering back to Flogsta for a two hour afternoon nap. And by nap I mean I passed out.
At some point I must have woken up, because there I was having dinner (bread and cheese, or something) with Mar and Martin (I think). And here the details get a little hazy, because we went back out partying. There was some sort of massive party on one of the Flogsta building rooftops, so up to the roof we went. There Martin and I reconvened with an red-lip-stained Nathan and the rest of the Turkish crew I’d been hanging out with earlier in the day. I remember we were talking about nation stereotypes at one point, which led to something like half an hour of “Turkish wrestling” which really just involved a couple of the guys rolling around on the ground and occasionally slamming into the walls or railing. You know, keeping it safe seven floors up. I also wandered off at one point to make a beer/whiskey run to my corridor, holding a door for a girl on the way, who remarked, “Hey you’re the cool guy who fell yesterday,” which pretty much made my night. And then, uhm. Then the whiskey happened, and there was a bonfire, and they were burning a couch, and then I woke up on Saturday feeling terrible. TERRIBLE.
Drinking’s bad, kids. Now here are some photos.
P.S. For those of you who are sorry I missed Unofficial at UofI this year, don’t be. I’m sorry you missed Valborg.
Listening to: Petit Colorado, Dionysos