Emily of Sweden, Part V: Into the Wild (Swedish style)

On Friday Dad and I ventured out- perhaps the farthest I've ever been in Sweden. We were heading to his cottage (newly acquired last fall: he and Märit have a fun summer ahead of them), which is about a 2 1/2 hour drive from Knivsta. It was an uneventful drive, there wasn't much to look at beyond farmland and the now-familiar red houses with white trim.

To get there involved quite a drive over an old dirt road. There was only so far we could go before we had to get out and walk the rest of the way to the cottage. On a lake with evergreens all around, the isolated place put me in mind of Northern Ontario. The difference is, of course, in Sweden it's not too long before you're back among people, whereas in Northern Ontario if you get lost there is a real chance you could be killed by wild animals, or simply freeze to death (and then those same wild animals will feast upon your remains).

But back to the Swedish cottage. It was a good reminder to me of how much I enjoy getting back to nature- we were able to take the canoe out for a spin, I lit the fire and even the outhouse didn't bother me much. (It's a far cry from the putrid stalls you find in public parks, though.) It was colder than I like for camping, even though we were inside, and sleeping in the loft made the outhouse less quaint and more of an annoyance, but all in all it was a good trip. It was also good to see a place with so few people. Sometimes I get this image of Europe in general as this overpopulated madhouse of cutting-edge fashion, ancient architecture and a snooty attitude towards 'the colonies'. I'm happy to say that in Sweden I haven't encountered this last one at all, and as far as fashion goes, well, I don't think I'm one to judge.

So. After one night at the cottage, it was time to head back to civilization and modern amenities. We returned to Knivsta and prepared to attend a concert- an Iranian singer, known as 'the nightingale of Iran'. The adventures of Emily of Sweden continue...

Emily of Sweden, Part IV: Attack on Stockholm

I took on Stockholm early in the morning on May 7th. A short train ride from Knivsta saw me in Central Station by 9am. By the end of the day, I reigned victorious over the ancient and beautiful city by the Baltic, but it wasn't without heavy casualties.

My first setback came right out of the station. One wrong turn had me far from the tourist office, wasting my valuable energy simply trying to get my bearings. Once I reached the tourist office, I felt confident that my troubles were over- Oh, how mistaken I was! I purchased my Stockholm Card, received a map of the museum locations and away I went. I found the Mediterranean and Middle Eastern Museum: It didn't open till 11am (at this point it was shortly after 10). I moved on to the Museum of Dance: There was some sort of baby-day affair going on. As I do not have a baby, I could see I wasn't welcome. From there I wandered over to Gamla Stan ("Old Town") with the intention of seeing the Royal Palace. Unforturnately, though the signs told me to ask for staff assistance, there were no staff to be found. Somewhat dejected, I took a few pictures of the buildings and proceeded down a pedestrian-only street. Though I was tempted by the many interesting shops, at this point I hadn't been to a single museum yet, and I worried about getting my money's worth (or rather, Dad's money's worth- thank you, Dad!) out of my Stockholm card. I found my way back to Norrmalm (the modern city centre- like being downtown T.O.) and grabbed a burger (it was now 12 and I was famished).

Things began to look up for me. I headed back to the Mediterranean Museum, knowing that it would be open by now. Sure enough, I got in and was able to take many pictures. However, I reached the mummy exhibit and got a bit creeped out, so I moved on to the Museum of Dance, confident that the baby time would be over. My belief turned out to be entirely correct and I quickly took in the many exhibits.

The battle had reached a stand-still at this point: I was unsure of where to go next, and wandered aimlessly in search of inspiration. Then Stockholm got a bit tricksy, by sending a nice young Swedish student to attempt to distract me with a survey. Oh, Stockholm. I cannot be fooled by your magician's tricks. I answered the questions quickly and moved on- my next goal was the Medieval Stockholm Museum, but it proved elusive. I was not about to surrender! A moment of brilliant thought, and I was on a bus heading for Skansen.

Once in Skansen, I had Stockholm on the ropes. I went to the Aquarium, the Nordic Museum and off to the Museum of Antiquities. Stockholm cried for mercy and I, gracious in my victory, simply claimed the city as part of Emily-Land. My job done, I returned to Knivsta for victory pancakes and an evening of British television.

Emily of Sweden, Part III: Sweden, Finally!

After Munich, my arrival in Arlanda was a breeze. No one questioned, searched or even eyed me suspiciously as I zoomed to the luggage claim and then out through the nearest exit. Dad and I took a crazily fast train right to Knivsta, and then after a quick trip for groceries we got to his place. I settled into the guest house and took in the changes since the last time I visited. (Wow! Indoor plumbing! Heated tile floors! Big TV! The place has definitely improved.) After, I sat in the kitchen to visit as Dad and Marit prepared dinner.

It was an early night for me, and the next day I slept in and had a liesurely morning/afternoon before...wait for it... Emily of Sweden took on IKEA! I wasn't in a position to buy anything, but IKEA is always a fun store to wander through and look at everything. Plus, I can get ideas for my next apartment- once back in Canada, of course.

It was another quiet evening, with Stockholm to look forward to in the morning.

Emily of Sweden, Part II: the Failed Raid of Munich

After several delays, the plane from Toronto finally took off. I had one of the worst seats on the plane: almost at the very back and sandwiched between two strangers, both of whom proceeded to fall asleep and spent most of the trip infringing on my space and impeding any trip to the bathroom. After a couple of movies and tv shows (in-flight entertainment has really improved since my first international flight!) and a nap or two we arrived at Munich airport. Because of the initial delay there was a great burst of people trying to leave- some old men even tried to get off the plane before we had even finished landing!

Once off the plane we were herded into the main area of the airport and everyone received an informative handout about the swine flu. Apparently, Germany doesn't have it yet. I'd try some germ warfare, but unfortunately, I don't have swine flu either.

I successfully navigated my way through customs and began wandering through the airport with a pained expression due to the onset of a stomachache. Wait... is that a sign of swine flu?! ...Nah... if anything, I blame the inflight meal. I wanted the beef, but by the time they got around to serving the back all that was left was chicken. Damn you, Airplane Chicken!

Now, I have made it to the appropriate gate- my passport is stamped and I'm ready to go. I just wish there were drinking fountains around. I'm parched. All I've been able to find are Camel smoking rooms (apparently for smoking Camel cigarettes only) and nap booths (these I fully support and would endorse if given the chance.) So while my brief stay in Munich airport was not a total fail, it wasn't what I'd think of as a win- or even a tie. Onward, to Sweden!

Emily of Sweden, Part I: Escape from Canada

Note: This entry, and the next, were written on the go while I was without Internets.


I've made it to the airport! There were some bumps- I needed help arranging to get my boarding pass, there was some discussion of whether I should just take both bags as carry-on (I opted not to: my suitcase is full of shampoo, conditioner, etc, which is now a no-no... thanks a lot, terrorists.) and the baggage check woman laughed at my last name.

My final security check was the worst. I didn't realize I needed to check my laptop separately (yeah... I wasn't thinking) and so my bag had to be searched completely. My camera-in-a-sock was met with an amused raised eyebrow (Come on, guy! I already dropped more money than I should have for the camera, memory card and extended warranty, a sock will serve as a camera case for now!) and my spare plastic fork was met with bewilderment (though actually, I'm not sure where it came from either...) but in the end I was able to pack everything back up and proceed.

Now here I am, enjoying a beer in an airport bar before I mosey over to my flight gate. Sweden is 21 hours away! My initial flight is 2 hours away! Aerosmith is playing! My beer isn't empty! Life is good.

Squick...

So, I've been watching some early SNL episodes lately. (Season 3: 1977-1978) And it started me thinking about a number of things... most I'll probably get to later, because the one that is pressing in my mind is the whole situation of when you say something, and then later on that saying comes back to bite you in the ass, and wouldn't you know it, most of North America has it on tape! To cut the suspense, in an early episode of SNL, (he was hosting) O.J. Simpson remarked, "Never underestimate the revenge of a black man!" ... My roommate and I looked at each other, then turned back to the screen, speechless. Oh, O.J. ....that was squicky!