Waking up on my last day of the trip was hard. I stayed in bed longer than I had to. I really wanted to rush out and say good-bye to Claudia and David, but they had to get up and go horseback riding. So instead, I stayed in bed, then went down for breakfast and finally went down to the souvenir shop to pick up some last minute gifts. Then I went back to Guest House Pavi, packed up my bag and headed to a different hotel where I would get picked up for the Blue Lagoon. It was a mini-van that came to get me, but that was only a short ride to get to the main bus terminal.

See, Blue Lagoon is 40km from Reykjavik and the bus we took there is the same one we’d end up taking to Keflavik and the airport (another 20km away) so we could keep our luggage on board without having to worry about it, which was handy.

Blue Lagoon

So I’m there, at the bus terminal, across from the Reykjavik airport (small craft only) and I throw my pack down to wait for my bus. But I happen to throw it down next to the pack of this English guy who kind of has an Orlando Bloom thing going on. Not sure exactly how the conversation started, I think it had something to do with not being sure with which bus we were supposed to be on, but however it happened, we introduced ourselves (his name is John) and all of a sudden we are deep in conversation about Iceland and writing and science fiction. Turns out, he’s from Nottingham, home of Robin Hood.

Our bus finally shows up, so we load our bags, grab seats near the back and we continue talking.

Look at that water...

On the bus ride the conversation deepened and we went from talking about general themes to our own writings and career plans. By the time we actually got to Blue Lagoon we were fast friends. The Lagoon itself was amazing, even before we went

Bridges

inside. The water outside was an absolutely unreal shade of blue and was cold, as opposed to the water inside.

Inside, we checked in, received our wristbands and I rented a towel. The wristbands are actually a very sophisticated RFID tracking system which allows you to operate lockers, but drinks, charge spa treatments, enter the pool area… everything! So John and I grabbed ourselves some lockers, figured out how to lock them using the wrist bands and headed out to enjoy the springs.

The springs themselves are huge and vary in temperature from maybe 35 degrees to 45 degrees (Celsius, not Fahrenheit). It wasn’t packed, which was nice for a Tuesday, that’s for sure! We floated around, from place to place, heading briefly to the source of all hot water, an artificial rock formation where the

Steam, punk

temperature was as hot as we were going to experience it. You could tell it was the place to be since there were huge plumes of smoke rising out of it!

And while we didn’t partake of the steam rooms and saunas (because really, what’s the point of a sauna if you’re not gonna get naked) but we did enjoy the massage waterfall, which felt like huge, hot hands pounding on your back and neck. The thing which makes Blue Lagoon such a “must do” thing in Iceland, though, is not only the water, but the spa treatments. Now, being both boys and

Waterfall massage...

broke (we were both heading home from vacation, remember) we didn’t actually make full use of the spa but they did have some complimentary facial products and we both decided to smear our faces for the recommended 10 minutes (at a point when, unfortunately, my camera battery had died so no pictures of pore cleansing products in my beard!). And, I’ll admit it, it felt good. I felt like a new man. Now, this may have something to do with the absolutely brilliant day I had had the day before or the beers John and I were

blokes, beers and beauty treatments

enjoying in the water (charged to my bracelet) but however you cut it, it was nice.

By now, it was time to grab the bus to the airport. So John and I headed back up to the lockers, got dressed and went out. I threw my rented towel over my shoulder, paid off the outstanding balance on my wristband and we checked out the gift shop before making our way out to the bus. We even got lost on the way, just trying to get out of the place. When we finally made it onto the bus, we took our seats and John looked at me and asked if I was just going to keep the towel.

That’s right. The towel I had rented to use while I was there was still hanging casually over my shoulder. By this point it was too late to do anything about it so I wrapped it tight and strapped it to my backpack. So with a new towel in hand, we rode the 20km to the airport, went through the long check in line and then grabbed a bite to eat. John and I said good-bye when his plane started boarding. I made a

relaxing...

quick, final stop at the airport gift shop before boarding my own plane to Minneapolis.

My trip was ending in a perfect circle. I had finally seen the whales and gotten the Robin Hood connection which started my adventures way back at the beginning of June. In the previous eleven weeks I had meet people I would never forget, seen sights I never thought I would see and ate things the human body should not eat (yes, I’m talking about salt licorice). This was the adventure of the a lifetime and certainly will change the way I go forward into the future.

I’ve been bit by the travel bug, and I will be doing it again soon. But now that I’ve done it alone, I think next time some company is in order. And of course, when I go, I will let you all know and this tale of adventure will continue.

Thanks. It’s been a blast.

Landing in Keflavik I was two hours earlier than when I left Copenhagen at 10:30pm so after a 3 hour flight, it was still only 11:30pm and going outside to catch a bus to my hostel I realized, for the first time on my trip, that Iceland was cold, even in the heart of summer, and I may not have packed enough warm clothes.

Then, when I finally got to Guest House (which is what they call hostels in Iceland) Pavi it was close to 1am and the people who run the place weren’t around. So I had to make a phone call and was told to just find a bed and we’d take care of everything else in the morning. The room I was in was a huge space subdivided like an office. I found a cubicle with an empty bed and took up residence, falling asleep quite quickly.

The next morning, I awoke early, went downstairs for breakfast, took care of my bill and tried to figure out what I was going to do for the day. I’d already decided I was going to go whale watching (as a nod to Ida and our original voyage to putgarden) and take a tour around the Golden Circle (a tour through the center of Iceland to see some of the big natural sites). The only choice, really, was in which order I would do these things. I decided on the whale

Dolphin in the sky...

watching the first day, then getting up early for the Golden Circle coach tour the next. So on my way down to the harbor, I booked my tickets for Golden Circle and Blue Lagoon (a very popular spa/hot springs which I could do on my way back to the airport).

Even the statues get cold...

Before getting on a boat, though, my ears were cold so I stopped in at a souvenir shop to pick up a cap. When I couldn’t find one I liked, I stole one from a statue! Okay, not really. But when I had a nice knit cap emblazoned with the Icelandic flag picked out, the shop attendant very nicely pointed out that one really made me look like a tourist and instead I should go for something a little more subtle so I could blend in. I liked the plan. Now, I was prepared for the biting wind of a fast moving whale watching boat.

On the boat, it was even colder than I thought it would be. Thankfully, though, my ears were fine!

David and Claudia

On the boat, though, I met a little guy named David. Okay, I didn’t know his name was David right away since he’s six and he only speaks German, but we were smiling at each other and pointing out whales so it was okay. Then I met David’s mom, Claudia, who DID speak English and with whom I could have a conversation (wherein I found out David’s name). We started becoming friends when she asked me to watch David (and hold her very good rail side seat) while she went below to get rain coats for the three of us. We had a blast trying to spot sea critters who were moving very fast. While Claudia and I spotted a whale or two, David didn’t and he wasn’t happy about it. In fact, with the wind and the cold and rain he was

Fake whale!

not having a good time. Once the boat docked though, Claudia and David joined me at the little whale watching museum where David did, finally, see a whale (even if it was a fake one).

Afterwards, the three of us decided to continue hanging out so we went for food. While we were eating Claudia mentioned they were going to do the Golden Circle the next day as well, in the car she had rented, and invited me to come along. So I cancelled my reservation and we all spent the rest of the day together, wandering around Reykjavik, seeing the sights and having dinner. I headed back to my hostel to do my final grading (they had wifi) and get some sleep. Big day coming up.

The next morning I headed over to Claudia and David’s guest house early in the morning. We had decided we were going to leave around 9am, so I had breakfast at my place then walked the three blocks to hers (honestly, Reykjavik, especially the downtown area, not that big). When I got there, Claudia wasn’t ready yet so David and I played “lime

Really, this is all about the lake in the background...

football” on the kitchen table. Again, very interesting trying to communicate. In the end, I decided the best approach was to speak 6 year old which, as my friend John (who I would meet the next day) pointed out is native to everyone since we’ve all spent a year in that land. It was good. And when I took the lime away, he grabbed a chunk of raw ginger, which didn’t roll nearly as well as the lime.

Anyway, we loaded up the car, I was given the map and named navigator, put a German Pippi Longstocking CD in for David and we headed off. Our first scheduled stop was Þingvellir national park, a place where the tectonic plates are pulling the country apart. But like I said, that was our first “scheduled” stop. Our first ACTUAL stop happened about 20 kilometers away from Þingvellir when we saw some sheep by the side of the road. Now, we’d been seeing sheep and horses all along the way, but here, the sheep were right against the roadside. So Claudia pulled over and we all quietly got out. Of course, the quiet part didn’t last very long for some of us <<pointing towards David>>. Being six, he just wanted to pet the sheep. Knowing he was six, the sheep had no desire to be petted. They took off pretty quickly. This didn’t deter our little hunter though. He

David looking for sheep

kept running after them and they kept getting further away. At one point, the sheep were about 100 meters from him and he was about 75 meters from us, he looked back, put his fingers to his lips for us to be quiet, then got down on all fours and started crawling through the brush in search of his prey.

We were laughing so hard we probably did drive the poor sheep further away. Then he took off running again, and tripped when he hit this bizarre, alien looking landscape. My uncle genes kicked into high gear and I bolted when he hit the ground, getting there faster than I thought I could run. I picked him up and dusted him off (he probably didn’t need me, have I mentioned he’s six?) and we rejoined his mom in the car (I had to physically stop him from going after the sheep again). Then we finally got to Þingvellir (and you know, I thought about telling you how to pronounce that, but it’s more fun to imagine you struggling with it and not bothering to look it up). The park itself is amazing! You can actually see where the ground is being ripped apart. We walked down into it, across

The land being torn asunder...

volcanic rocks (which got picked up for later throwing pleasure by… you guessed it… the six year old) and across bridges going over water so clear it almost looks invisible. Honestly, this is one of the most idyllic places I visited on my trip (and no, the company didn’t hurt). We actually sat for

Throwing rocks

quite a while on the banks of the stream, talking… not talking… watching David throw anything he could get his hands on into the water. I just wish we’d had a picnic lunch.

From there, we went to Geysir, which is a naturally erupting geyser. In fact, that’s where the word “geyser” comes from… except Geysir no longer erupts. There are other geysers there that do, about every 6-8 minutes, but not Geysir. Of course, if you stand right next to the geyser when it explodes upwards and you don’t take into account the wind shifts, you might find yourself getting drenched in hot water. Now, I don’t say this due to personal, firsthand experience, but if

Geysir... before it explodes

I’d had the camera set properly you’d see my driver learning her lesson.

From there, after a brief stop to eat and get souvenirs (okay, the souvenirs were mostly

Cute, huh?

for me and we had to get David a Viking helmet) we hit the furthest end of the Golden Circle, Gull Foss. Gull Foss is a waterfall which makes a 90 degree turn before dropping off about 80 meters. It’s beautiful! You can walk down very close to the top of the falls

Invasion of the Vikings!

(where six year olds can throw rocks into the water) and just experience the raw energy of millions of gallons rushing past you. When we were there, the sun was coming in behind the clouds at such an angle we were getting rainbows and dappled sunlight moving with the water. Just wonderful. Again, we sat and watched the world go by.

After a little while we left and headed back towards Reykjavik, enjoying the scenery and the landscape, which, really, looks like Mars or someplace out of the realm of terrestrial

Gull Foss

reality. It’s all volcanic, really, but it doesn’t look like volcanic landscape. Iceland is truly

There's rocks under that coat

one of the most unique places on the planet.

Not that that uniqueness translates beyond a fun fair in the local supermarket parking lot where David simply HAD to go on a ride (the one he wanted to go on had no operator so he settled for the jumbo slide). From there, the tired boy (me) and my traveling companions headed back to their Guest House for home cooked dinner. We put David to bed and then Claudia and I chatted until I was too tired to leave (which, of course, is when I had to go). I made it back to my place knowing I had to get up early to catch a bus to the Blue Lagoon before the airport and the plane which would take me

Fun slide!

home.

I got back to Malmö in the morning, made my way to Malin’s place and promptly collapsed on the bed – but not for long. We had a lunch date with Marie at the special, top secret sushi place where I got the best present of my trip – a jar of salt licorice candy (no, that’s not the special part) with a custom label, words by Malin, art by Marie. It’s awesome! And it will hold a special place on my mantle for years to come, candy still tucked safely inside because, let’s face it, unless you grew up with the stuff, salt licorice is some of the nastiest gunk on the planet. We were joined at lunch by Martin, an engineer (and part time aspiring magician) who has helped Malin with props. He had just started his holiday and so had some time off.

Malmo fest

In fact, Martin and I decided to hang out for a bit that night and hit the opening festivities of the Malmö festival – an annual street fair/music fest/craft show which takes place all

Me and a giant lamp

over town. So we walked and talked (we also visited the science fiction bookshop so I could get a new book) and took pictures. I said good night fairly early, though, since I had to pack for my flight to Reykjavik the next day as well as finish grading papers.

That next day came early and was trying to figure out how I was going to get everything into my backpack. There were times it didn’t look like it would all fit, but eventually, it got there. In the morning, I also called my friend Ida (you remember her from the post way back in June entitled “Where Were We…”  ) who was back in Copenhagen. See, she had gone home to Ecuador for a bit and just happened to be back when I was there and she had asked if we could get together. So when I called her, we arranged to meet in Copenhagen at 6:30. Quite cryptically she said “come hungry.”

So I finally got everything into the pack, hoisted it on my back, and caught a ride to the train station with Malin and Sonny. It was nice to be able to say good-bye to both of them (we thought Sonny might be working). They are such a great couple and they made me feel so welcome and at home during

All packed up and ready to go...

all my time in Malmö. I can honestly say my journey would not have nearly as successful if it hadn’t been for Malin and Sonny (and Marie – Arrrrrrrrrrrrrgggh)! Anyway, they dropped me off, I jumped a train and headed off to meet Ida (remember, it’s pronounced with the short “I” sound – Eeda). I was running a few minutes late so I went still carrying my pack. We met in front of Tivoli Gardens and Ida immediately suggested what I had been thinking, that we walk back across the street and deposit my bag in a locker for the evening. Not only was it more practical, but she made some reference to the fact that it just wouldn’t do to bring my 24.7 kilo pack to where we were going for dinner. And as I would find out, she was right!

After dropping my pack, we headed back into the city proper. There was a Pride Fest concert going on in the square and I followed Ida through the throngs of thongs. When I asked where we were going, she said I’d see. We did, however, have a bit of a walk ahead of us. On the walk, we caught up on where we’d been, what we’d been doing (mostly me, because she had gone back to work) and what was next. Finally, we got to a harbor and the view was spectacular. Remember how I said I was proud of myself for not seeing the Little Mermaid while I was in Copenhagen? Guess what? That’s exactly where Ida brought me and that mermaid, she ain’t so little.

She sits high in the middle of the harbor, staring plaintively out over the ocean, waiting for her love to come back. It really is a beautiful piece. I stared for a second before Ida said “Come on, we have a boat to catch.” She explained that she had wanted to surprise me and so had called in a favor and pulled some strings and fibbed slightly about my American reporter credentials, but she managed to get us a table for dinner in one of the most exclusive restaurants in Copenhagen – Hans – located in the head of the Little Mermaid!

We had to take a small ferry boat to get out there, a trip of mere minutes – which was a shame because the boat was so nice and well appointed. I found out later, if there’s a back up at the restaurant or if you’re very early, they’ll serve cocktails on the boat and turn it into a pre-dinner cruise. But we were on-time and our table was waiting so no cruising for us. Next time, if there is one. So the boat drops us off at a dock which is hidden from the dry side of the view, and we are directed into a faux cave. From inside, things look bigger than you’d think – you can’t see where the statue joins with the rock which betrays the fabrication of the whole thing. Unfortunately, and I’ve complained about this before, but there was no elevator, so, after checking in at the base, we had to climb the 80 or so stairs to the top.

When we finally reached the main floor, the restaurant was spectacular. It was dimly lit with the majority of light coming in from the two large windows which corresponded to the Mermaid’s eyes. As the sun set, though, the ambient lighting took over, just bright enough to see but not so bright as to diminish the lights of the city outside. It’s a very romantic setting. Honestly, made me sad Ida and I are just friends (but thankful she called in her favor for me rather than her boyfriend who was coming in the next week). We were seated at a table slightly to the side of the windows (you can’t ask for everything, right?) and shown the menus. Evidently Hans (named for Hans Christian Andersen, the writer of The Little Mermaid tale) is known for its meat-like seafood. If that doesn’t make sense, think of it this way… they don’t do traditional seafood. The fish on the menu isn’t done in filets. Instead, they only work with thick, solid cuts of fish. So the tuna, which I had, is a tuna steak, prepared with beef like spices and a sauce which has to be tasted to be believed. Honestly, this was the best meal I had in my entire trip (figures it would happen on my last night on the mainland, huh?). Ida, who is a vegetarian, had a sampler plate which also was amazing (yes I tried some – but I was still glad I had the tuna). I didn’t particularly care for the mixed veggies, but the mashed potatoes had some sort of base taste I’ve never had before. We asked and the waiter told us it was because they use a blend of yak milk instead of cow milk to make it fluffier (No, I don’t know where they get the yak milk, either).

After the main course was digested, we decided to have desert. Yes, they had tiramisu on the menu, but I just couldn’t order it. The place was too cool to have something like that so instead we decided to split ‘The Philopher’s Stone.’ We were both full and while I would have liked to have tried ‘The Red Shoes,’ the description of which included powdered espresso beans and candied ginger, just seemed a bit too much (and can you tell all the desserts were named for H.C. Andersen tales? The Tiramisu was actually called ‘The Tinder Box’). Of course, what we did order was no slouch. It was a hand churned ice cream (the flavor wasn’t exactly vanilla, it was richer and there was something underneath it I couldn’t indentify, but that’s as close as I’m gonna get) served with a chocolate infused biscotti like cookie. Except the cookie wasn’t hard, it had a soft middle which didn’t exactly taste like chocolate. I’m not doing a good job of explaining it, but it was amazing. Even better was the presentation – It was served in a bowl, with the cookie “standing at attention” and underneath it was a dry ice mist to give off the feeling of a cold Danish morning. Just spectacular!

By this time it was getting late and I had a flight to catch, so we couldn’t stay to enjoy any more of the ambience or after dinner drinks. We made our way down stairs, caught the ferry back to land and headed for the airport (looking back at The Mermaid, you could see a glint in the eyes where the restaurant is, but it was shielded so well you couldn’t see anything going on behind those eyes).

At the airport, Ida walked me as far as she could, to the alarmingly empty security checkpoint, where we said good bye. I boarded the plane, taking an aisle seat and rested for the three hour flight to Keflavik, the main Icelandic

How luggage arrives into Keflavik...

airport about 40 kilometers from Reykjavik, where I had a “guest house” booked.

My trip was coming to an end – two and a half days to go before heading back to Vegas. But I was planning to make the most of them.

Waking up on my third day in Amsterdam I had a bit of a hangover. Not that I had indulged in anything particularly, but when it’s all around you can’t help but get some effects. So I woke up still a bit groggy and my teeth itched (I discovered that when I am… under the herbal influence… I clench my jaw – weird). BUT, I woke up in time to actually catch a breakfast downstairs. So I made myself a sandwich and had a few hard boiled eggs (LOVE the hard boiled eggs!) and headed out catch the more cultural aspects of the northern city of canals.

Culturally speaking, though, there’s a bit of rivalry between art and history. Representing art, in this corner, you have one of the top heavy-weight champeens of all time, The Big Vinnie, Vincent van

Van Gogh/Greenspon self portraits

Gogh – he’s mad, he’s bad and he’s redefining the field completely.

In the other corner, coming in at a mere 98 pounds (pure speculation on my part), the little miss with the big dreams, the scribbling fanatic from the attic – Anne Frank!

With van Gogh, you’ve got a whole museum dedicated to his professional life of ten years (yup, that’s it). Before that, he held a variety of jobs and basically lived off his brother (come to think of it, that’s what he did while he was being a painter, too). He was just about to make a big breakthrough when he ended it all. Of

Anne Frank

course, in those ten years he produced an amazing amount of work and, let’s face it, some of it is pretty good. For my taste, I like the later pieces. I’m not gonna go all cliché here and start waxing rhapsodic about Starry Night (primarily because it’s NOT in the Amsterdam Van Gogh Museum –it is a brilliant piece, though) but some of those works he painted just before he died, Wheat Field with Crows, for example, are just haunting. The still-lifes are wonderful, especially when seen up-close and you can really differentiate between the subtle variations of color and shade. Honestly, you really can’t appreciate how amazing he is until you stand in front of the works themselves and see the brushstrokes and feel the intensity coming from the canvas. Still Life my ass. There is so much movement and energy going on in that two-dimensional world it’s a wonder he was able to contain it at all.

Ironically, one of the pieces I liked the most in the Van Gogh museum wasn’t by him at all, but was one of his inspirations… and of course, I didn’t write down his name or the name of the piece and I can’t find it. But it shows the Roman soldiers who crucified Christ riding away and you don’t see the crosses themselves, but only the shadows. It’s haunting.

Speaking of haunting, let’s take a look at the cultural challenger. The Frank family, led by patriarch Otto, was a nice, solid, middle class group in the heart of Amsterdam (no relation to my hostel). Otto owned a manufacturing company

The Anne Frank Huis from across the canal

situated on one of the canal streets, Prinsengracht and, oh yeah, happened to be Jewish. I’m gonna go out on a limb here (catch the subtle reference to the Anne Frank Tree?) and say, in her own way, Anne and Vinnie are pretty evenly matched, but I’m gonna give the advantage to The Scribe from the Tribe…

See, while the artwork of van Gogh is quite moving, walking through the empty loft where Anne, her parents and a few other people lived for two years hits home in a way art hanging on a wall cannot. Honestly, moving from room to room (which remain bare per a directive from Otto Frank) makes the entire ordeal more personal and moving than you can possibly imagine. For me, it was actually more powerful than Auschwitz. In Poland, it was overwhelming. It was too big to truly understand. In Amsterdam, really, you’re only concerned with one little girl and her story is devastating. So yeah, while the artwork may last longer, for immediate visceral reaction the winner, this round, is the frank Frank.

That night, my last in Holland, I decided to finally take Amsterdam at face value and actually check out the red light district and treat myself to a live sex show. When in Rome, right? Of course, my first stop was to get a shwarma for dinner. On the way, I passed a window with two girls who were offering a double bill. When I said I wanted to eat first, their response was “Fuck, then food!” Needless to say, I continued on. I ate and then headed into a theatre a couple of doors down from my hostel. I paid my money, took my seat and proceeded to watch the human equivalent of paint drying.

There was no eroticism, no sexiness, in fact, there was no enjoyment at all in the faces of the participants. This was their job and they were as bored as a cashier at Wal-mart. I probably would have left before the eight acts I had paid for (they recycle themselves every 50-60 minutes or so) were up if I hadn’t met Cate and June. They are a couple of accountants from London (although June is originally from the states) and they are both a trip and a half! We spent most of the sex show doing our version of Mystery Science Theatre. Afterwards, we found a local club, went

June and I in the rain

dancing until 4am when I dropped them off at their hotel and went home through the deserted streets of Amsterdam in the pouring rain. And there is nothing quite like Amsterdam in the rain. It is a cleansing of sorts, not that the city is dirty, but at 4:30 in the morning it is so quiet and still that the rain just enhances the feeling of serenity.

Of course, by the next morning, I was exhausted and I had to check out since I had a train to catch that night. I did a bit of touristing, though, picking up some souvenirs and visiting the Rijks (State) Museum. It’s a nice museum, but it’s undergoing renovation so you only get the highlights (and yet they charge you the same price!) What they do have is Rembrandt’s “Night Watch” and some other important Dutch works. The most interesting thing was the special collection audio by Ronald de Leeuw, former curator of the museum, talking about how he acquired the pieces and which were his favorites. That was particularly interesting to me, to get inside the mind of the man who determines what we see and how we see it.

Just a pretty picture

On my way back to the train station, I stopped at a little café and had the best apple pie I’ve ever had and then I popped my head in at the Steltman Galleries (professional home of one of my favorite modern artists, Michael Parkes). My train left on time and fifteen hours later I was back in Malmö. My time in Europe was fast approaching an end but

Steltman Galleries

there were still many more adventures to be had. In fact, one of the biggest would happen the next day when my friend Ida had told me she had a surprise for me and wanted to take me to dinner.

Overnight trains leave a lot to be desired. In this instance, I got on board at 7pm and wasn’t going to get off again until 10 the next morning. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing except when you’re in a train compartment with five other people and your legs are intertwined it gets hard to sleep. Add in the fact that people are constantly leaving the train and the sun is coming up and someone forgot to draw the blinds and really, not the best night’s sleep.

On the plus side, though, I did meet a nice guy named Ricardo who bought me an ice cream when we hit the Amsterdam Central

Ice cream friends

Station. He and I had been talking about writing at dinner the night before and then he told me about this special ice cream which sounded like the Dutch version of Coldstone. And it was good, too. But then, after ice cream, we said good –bye, I hoisted my pack and made my way through the Red Light District to my hostel, conveniently called The Heart of Amsterdam, and checked in.

The cool thing about this place is that all of the rooms are named after movies. I was assigned The Wall. Too bad really, since I was hoping for The Godfather, but you take what you can get, right? They have these lockers in the rooms which are electronic, with magnetic keys. They seem to be pretty secure so I throw my big and little bags in and then decide to go exploring. I found out about a free walking tour which was leaving from Dam Square later that afternoon so I head out.

Dam Square is the big central square in town, bordered by the city hall building on one side and a very phallic like sculpture on the other. In between is a huge open area where street performers, living statues and hot dog vendors all fleece tourists out of

The monument in Dam Square

hard earned Euro. I wandered around a little bit while waiting for the tour to start. Branching off from the

The sign makes the scene

square were a bunch of streets all filled with souvenir shops and fast food restaurants. The main road which divides the square leads directly from the Train Station and goes right past Madame Tussauds (which had one of the longest lines I’d see there).

Finally the tour started and the guide was a guy named John from the States. It seems like a number of the tour guides I saw in foreign countries were native English speakers, which I guess would be a great job for an ex-pat. We got a little bit of history while standing around the sculpture and then started walking in earnest. We saw a piece of art which was imbedded in the ground (completely anonymous, too – no one knows where

Sculpture in the ground

it came from, who did it or what it means). We wandered through the red light district, which has been around as long as the city itself. It started as an economic thing. Since Amsterdam is a port city, sailors would come to town and need a place to spend their money. Girls seemed a good option so they started regulating it. Of course, just to make sure both sides of the coin came back to the local economy, they built a church right across the street. Those poor sailors got it coming

John leading the tour

and going (to hell)!

And then there’s the famous “coffee shops,” places where you can buy marijuana in a variety of qualities and quantities. Do be perfectly clear… buying, selling, smoking or growing pot is still illegal the police just choose to look the other way. See, Amsterdam prides itself on its liberalism and general acceptance of everyone and everything - but they are also practical. Looking the other way on pot lets them focus on keeping the harder things off the streets. We could learn a lot from these people. Of course, the ultimate irony is that in the current, politically

No smoking... tobacco

correct, healthy atmosphere tobacco is not allowed in the coffee houses but pot is! Odd, I know.

Anyway, on my tour, I met Iwola, a recent transplant who was working her way across Europe from Poland a month at a time. She’s a photographer and we ended up meeting up later that night for dinner and book shopping. Since she’d been a town a few days longer than I, she knew the really cool places. We found this little side alley where a guy had a bunch of carts set up with all sorts of books in all sort of languages. I picked up a couple of old scifi pulps and a text on the supernatural in fiction and we spent WAY too much time looking at the photos in old kids travel books trying to determine the dates (cars and clothes were good, but not always the most accurate, indicators – we got really geeky when we started discussing the quality of color saturation in the printing).

I made it back to “The Heart” just as dusk was falling. Thankfully, I booked into a place where they didn’t care about smoking (yes, of all the places I stayed, Amsterdam hostels had to specify their drug policies) so I ended up not having to buy anything. I got some great contact highs sitting in my bed and typing. Much mellower than the days when I actually did the stuff myself

me and Cassie

(which was twenty years ago, so the statute of limitations has dropped off). I did meet Cassie though. She was in my room (gotta love mixed dorms) and we made plans to go out the next day.

I didn’t get up early enough that next day to actually enjoy the hostel provided breakfast but when I did get up, Cassie and I hit the ground running… er… peddling. See, in Amsterdam, biking is the way to go and there

Invisible Man sculpture

are plenty of places around to rent bikes. However, it took us a while to find one since neither of wanted to ask for directions right off (we knew where we were going) and by the time we realized how lost we were, it was more of a challenge to actually just find the place. I explained how I normally would ask but now it was a point of pride. I told her “I’m the gayest straight man you’ll ever meet” to which she replied “That’s good, ‘cuz I’m the straightest gay girl you’ll ever know!”

We finally did (and the guy gave us a great deal) and we headed out to SEE Amsterdam. We rode through parks and by canals,

Bike tricks

almost got hit by cars and even got lost once or twice. Of course, getting lost is the best way to really see a place. You get into the back alleys and out of the way spots. It’s one of the reasons I

A couple of dicks...

like to just wander. You don’t really get a chance to actually experience a city until you get off the main roads and tourist centers. So we did. We also hit Amsterdam’s Erotic Museum and she bought me a space cake (pot laden pastry – which, I must say really didn’t affect me at all).

That night was more of the same, but the next day… that’s when we discovered the REAL Amsterdam.

Well… I did it again. I honestly don’t know why I keep doing the same thing expecting different results – except this time I got them! I went to the zoo in Copenhagen and, unlike my previous zoo outings (Berlin, Zagreb, Helsinki, Stockholm) this time, not only were the animals out, but there were more of them! I think the reason earlier jaunts had proved so unsatisfying was that the

Mommy and baby seals

animals were gestating! Now, as summer was winding down and fall was coming around the corner, there were babies galore! Everywhere you looked, there were baby animals holding tight to mommies and daddies. It was quite sweet.

Also, somehow, I managed to follow the designated feeder around the park. In several places, I only had to wait a few minutes for the girl to set up the food and then release some sort of big mammal into the enclosure to eat it. The brown bears were cool, but the tigers were the best! She set up two huge hunks of meat, one in a tree and one tied to a rope and then let the cats out. Didn’t

Tigers!

take long for one to figure out how to get the meat from the rope and then parade around with it while the other one followed gamely, trying to snag a piece. After a few minutes, the second one remembered there was another hunk in the tree so he (I’m assuming here, I didn’t look) climbed the tree and successfully got his own lunch. I didn’t stick around much after that since it was crowded and there were other animals to see.

In the monkey house, they had put out food (fruits and vegetables mostly) and a giant stuffed octopus before letting the chimps back in. It was kind of fun watching the biggest one attack the

Cephalopods in the monkey house

orange octopus, realize it wasn’t a threat, and then carry it around with him while he ate.

Wolves

I also saw wolves and polar bears and hippos and lions and the newest attraction – the Elephant house. This is a brand new exhibit, just opened, and really state of the art. There’s lots of space for the pachyderms and a really nice “enrichment center” which is a nice way saying educational stuffs. The Zoo in Copenhagen really did themselves proud, especially when you compared it to the old elephant house which was still standing next to the new one. It was brick and tiny, like

Baby Elephant

something out of the 20s.

All told, a very positive experience, and not a bunny to be found!

Afterwards, I headed for home (Sweden, remember? This was the day I had left my note “Gone to Denmark, be back before dark”) since we had a party to go to that night. Evidently, it is a tradition in August to have a crayfish party. I’ll explain in a minute what that means, but when I got back to the house, Malin was there, along with Sonny (who had gotten gig doing a modern dance interpretation for the Malmö ballet but was off today) and Ola, Malin’s brother. The four of us hung out for a bit before heading to the party, which was at a guy called Marcus’ place.

Now here’s the thing about crayfish parties… They are big events where everyone brings their own crayfish, which are usually

Dinner in its most basic form

purchased precooked in a special Swedish boil of spices and herbs. When we got there (we weren’t the last to arrive, but close) there were already about twenty people seated around along table and several of them were wearing crayfish party hats. I wasn’t told about the hats in advance or I certainly would have insisted we get some! So we took our seats at the end, Sonny produced a big tray of crayfish and Malin and Ola tried to explain what to do.

Ola showing the crayfish who's boss

Malin explained the Swedish way was to suck out the juice from the middle then put the head in your mouth and bite down, which she did and Ola was supposed to do. See, the hazard of being around people who speak a different language is that they can quite openly plan a practical joke without you knowing it and that’s what the chomping the heads was. You don’t really eat the heads but Malin had

Sonny and Malin

committed to the joke while Ola chickened out at the last minute. In reality, what you’re supposed to do is pull the meat from the tail and put it on a slice of bread, eventually crating a very nice sandwich (it just takes a while). Adding to the time frame is that every now and again, someone starts singing (and yes, there were lyric sheets – in Swedish) at the end of which, you drink a shot of schnapps. This is really part if the tradition, I swear. And Sonny, bless him, was determined to make sure I got the full experience, so he had bought a nice sampler pack of schnapps bottles and he and I made short work of them over the course of the night. Malin had left early, she was tired,

crayfish tryingto steal my schnapps

and she made Sonny promise to make sure I got home in one piece. Eventually he did, but not before I met some very cool people, got a lot tipsy and stole a crayfish party hat of my very own!

It was a rough morning when I finally woke up, and I stayed around the house doing work and taking care of business (and doing laundry) until the afternoon when I got my stuff together and

I got my hat!

headed down to the train station to catch my overnight to Amsterdam. This was my second to last big trip and I was preparing to make the most of it!

Why go to Helsingor? Well, for one, everyone’s doing it and we all know how I am about peer pressure! But really, the more important reason, is that even the castle in Helsingor, which is actually called Kronborg, is real, but it’s much more well know for a fictional tale set there, that of Hamlet, by one W. Shakespeare.

Now here’s the fun part… getting there. It’s one of the closest places between Denmark and Sweden, only like four kilometers, and the town on the Swedish side is called Helsingborg, so don’t think that wasn’t confusing! But anyway, there’s a ferry which goes across between the two villages every twenty minutes or so and you can get a pass called “Around the Sound,” which basically lets you go from Copenhagen to Helsingor – Helsingborg to Malmo, all around for two days from the first time you use it. It’s like the Stockholm card in that respect. But you’re only supposed to travel in one direction around, so theoretically you get one ferry ride and one over the bridge transport. No problem.

Kronborg from the water

As you can probably guess, I got one of these passes. Of course, I paid no attention to the fine print and headed by train up to Helsingborg to take the ferry across. It was a short ride, nothing like the ferry to Putgarten, but then, really, what is? The nice thing was that the guy didn’t mark my ticket in anyway so I was pretty sure I could ride the ferry back, which is what I was intending to do.

Pulling into the harbor, the castle overwhelms the city. It’s huge and imposing. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy to find, so I asked directions. I felt slightly silly when the guy at the train station (which was adjacent to the ferry station) said you go out the door, turn right and walk. It was hard to miss.

So I did. Pretty much as long as you could see it, you knew where you were going. I walked along the waterfront (where,

Don't drive over the wall

evidently, they don’t like cars going into the drink) until finally I got to the castle. The sky was threatening but so far, it hadn’t unleashed its fury. So I quickly went in and bought my complete ticket package, which included the royal apartments, the casements, the chapel, and the tower/marine museum. I also wanted to do a bit of wandering outside, which was free. So I paid for my tickets (which was actually just one ticket with perforations on all four corners, each to come off as you saw the corresponding sight) and went out into the courtyard (which was set up for that evening’s open air performance of Romeo and Juliet) to decide on my course of action. I figured to do the casements first. The underground areas, storerooms and guard quarters seemed like the best place to begin a castle tour.

Inside, as the self-guided tour started, there was a vending machine. I went to see what it was selling, wondering what kind of a product would make sense in an otherwise empty room. It was just one thing – flashlights. Small ones, batteries included. Naw, I thought. My eyes are fine. I can watch my step and see what there is to see. So I headed into the caves.

Four minutes later I was back, digging through my pockets for the 20 Kroner to get my very own pocket LED battery powered light. Inside the caves, there were few areas of illuminations and none of the exhibits had any type of lighting, so if you wanted to know what the pictures on the walls were of, you needed your own. Okay, there was one exhibit which had light, and that was the statue of Holger Danske, a kind of King Arthur figure (in fact, Arthur probably stems from him, as do a number of legends around the world) of the sleeping King who will arise when his country needs him – so far Denmark’s been pretty

Really nice Shadow self-portrait in the casements

lucky and he’s still asleep down here. Further on into the casements were areas of utter darkness where they had stuck random wax figures. This was scarier than any haunted house! It was absolutely creepy and, to be perfectly honest, my little 3xAAA powered push button light wasn’t doing much in the department of keeping the monsters away. I made it through, sanity intact, although I did wonder about the guards who had had to live down there before the age of electricity. I know they had torches and such but still… creepy! As I made my way back up the ramp towards ground level, I pondered which of my three remaining visits I would use next.

My choice was made for me when, as I stepped outside, the sky opened up and buckets of rain decided to fall. Exploring the grounds was going to have to wait, as was the tower (which, really, was just the roof of the highest point of the castle). So the Royal Apartments it was. The apartments were interesting in that they were a mix of historical furnishings, Shakespearean history and contemporary art – a special exhibit was going on with modern artists using the historical as their launch point for new works. It was all quite interesting , especially the

Original Tapestry...

historical perspective of where Hamlet came from. Unfortunately, I don’t remember all the details, but the basic plot derived from a Danish writer and that was the only reason for setting the play in Elsinor. There

Modern interpretation!

really was no other reason. In fact, there’s no reason to believe Shakespeare himself ever set foot in the castle. Most of what he knew about it, the historical details he put into the play, could easily have come from sailors who used to use the port as a trading area. So basically, the shipyards were the medieval Wikipedia.

After the apartments, it was still raining so I went to the chapel. Not the most impressive, I will say. It was one room and the only thing it really had going for it were ornate pew headers. Certainly not worth a separate admission. Honestly, it would have been a nice

In the chapel

gimme to visitors to let them see the chapel for free, you know, give something back (and you can tell them I said so).

The weather still hadn’t let up but I didn’t have anywhere else to go so up into the maritime museum I went. As a museum, it was okay. Some interesting tidbits but mostly it was model ships or Danish origin. The tower entrance was about halfway into the museum and, luckily, by the time I got to the top (again with the circular, narrow staircase) the rain had stopped so I was treated

From the tower...

to some spectacular views of the bay and the castle grounds. And since the rain HAD stopped, I figured when I went down, I could finally do some exploring of said grounds, which I did.

You have to admit, if you were a medieval king, you could do worse than living here. You had the ocean on one side, a nice town on the other and people paying to come through in either direction. Not a bad way to survive.

I decided it was getting late so I decided to hit the gift shop then head for home. I’m glad I went to the gift shop in the castle,

The Castle walls...

though, rather than waiting until I got into Helsingor since all the shops there specialized in alcohol and there wasn’t a Hamlet souvenir ashtray to found anywhere.

When I got back to Malmö, Malin and I went out for dinner to do a bit of translating for my project and then we riffed on magic and just chatted well into the evening (not the best idea since she had an early morning gig).

So my first day back in glorious Skåne (which is the cool, Swedish name for the southern area of Sweden where Malmo is located) was spent doing precisely… nothing. Okay, not true. I slept and graded papers. And that felt like a vacation in and of itself. It was nice not to have pressure on myself to make the most of everyday and see all the sights and such. I could sleep and work and then take a nap. I needed it, honestly.

Now here’s the problem with this kind of schedule, though: I’m not sure when I did the things I did do (does that make sense or do I sound like a Danny Kaye film?) but I’ll try and give you the high lights just the same. I think I spent two days just catching

Malin on the beach

up. Which isn’t to say I didn’t do anything, but it was more mellow and relaxed. Malin and I spent some time working on the article I’m writing about her and we also went out with her friend Marie (who is an awesome artist) to lunch and things. Then we went to the beach! Yup, here in Sweden they have beaches! Now, it wasn’t what a normal Vegas boy would consider warm, beach weather, but we had a grand time. It was in a

Marie and I in the water

small town south of Malmo, which we were going to because Marie said they had the best ice cream there. We stopped at the beach first, though. I even went into the water, (yeah for waterproof cameras!) which was really cold. Afterwards, we sat on the sand and came up with ideas for Marie to write and draw a children’s book around. She’s that good, too. She could do it and it would sell! But after lounging around, ice cream began calling our name. So we stopped in at the little place and they did indeed have a damn fine cone of ice cream. Then we did a little bit of shopping in this expensive second hand store before heading home.

Do you remember the theatre I told you about? The one Malin’s dad helped build which is about an hour and a half away from Malmo in a little village called Skillinge (which, I’ve learned, is actually pronounced Whhiilling)? Well there was another show going on there, called Boogie Woogie Burlesque and Malin knew pretty much everyone in the show.

Now, here’s the thing about going to theatre in Sweden as an American. Odds are you’re not going to be speaking the same

Malin's dad and Ulf, the leader of the Boogie Woogie band

language as everyone up on that stage. We had thought about this and figured that the show was more of a concert with a loose story-line so it should be okay. And it was. I didn’t follow the story one little bit but the music was great and the magical variety act, a guy named Mephisto Jr. (Thorston Andreassen) did his act, which was very verbal, in a mish-mosh of German and Swedish and while I didn’t understand a thing, I laughed so hard I was crying. Then there was the music, a collection of standards and new pieces, all boogie woogie and all played brilliantly. It really was a fantastic show! Afterwards, we hung out at the theatre with the guys, shooting the breeze and enjoying the theatrical camaraderie. It’s a different vibe hanging with theatre people rather than

Ola and Sophie

solo performers. It felt good. It’s been a while since I’ve done something like that. I also met Malin’s brother Ola, who is also a magician. Really fun guy. I bring him up now, because he’s going to come back later when we get to the crayfish party (which is what we in the writing biz call foreshadowing).

Oh yeah, before the show, we had lunch with Christina, Malin’s sister, and her brand new, as of a week ago, fiancé, Henrik. You remember them from the infamous first trip to Puttgarden (ahhh… the good old days, when this blog was small and manageable and only read by family members instead of half of Europe). And after lunch we still had time to kill so Malin drove me to this great old church (which was closed) and told

The church...after it was returned

reminded me of how she made it vanish last year during her big show extravaganza. Pretty amazing feat, really. And no, I’m not going to tell you how she did it.

So then, it was off to Copenhagen.

I figured I should probably get back to doing that touring thing I was supposed to be doing and since

NOT the real Little Mermaid

Copenhagen is only a half hour away by train, I may as well got on with it, right? So Malin, Marie and I headed down to the station, hopped an intercity and made our way to Denmark (okay, side note here – but a few days later, when I went over by myself, it felt SO cool to write a note saying “gone to Denmark, be home before dark.”).

We stumbled along back streets and poked our heads into bookstores. We found cool little cafes and

living statues of a guy in the wind...

expensive coffee shops. I took pictures of living statues and with dead ones. What we didn’t do, was see the Little Mermaid. At least not the real one. At this point, it’s almost a matter of pride. We did, however, go to

My Danish family is a little stiff...

Copenhagen’s other main tourist draw – Christiana.

Christiana is a 1960s era commune in the middle of a 21^st century city. It has its own laws and own government. It buys electricity and water from Copenhagen but everything else is self-sufficient. They have a street called Pusher Street where drugs (but no longer hard drugs, just pot) are sold. We went and walked through and it was interesting, but I didn’t quite get the draw. I’ve lived in Venice Beach and old hippies just don’t excite me. I’ve had WAY too many conversations with guys who are too smart but have decided the game isn’t worth playing and so they just exist and float along and that’s what this place seemed like to me. The original idea was probably very good, but it’s been commodified to the point of playing at being hippy.

The last hippie outpost...

So yeah… not so much with the Christiana (but nice picture, eh?)

The few days after that were made up of working and writing and translating a book for my degree. And then I had to do something every English Lit person must do…I went to Elsinore!

I can’t believe I forgot the best quote from my evening with Emanuel! At some point in the conversation, when we were talking about various cities and I had made mention of the fact that Los Angeles wanted your soul and Las Vegas wanted your money, he said San Francisco (where he was from) wanted your heterosexuality. It didn’t take a lot of detective work on my part to very quickly deduce that he was, in fact, gay. Now, this isn’t a big deal, obviously, but it did lead to the wonderful exchange where I told him it was a shame he was gay since he was missing out on the beauty that is Scandinavian women. At which point I was put in my place with a well-timed “Scandinavian men…mmmm hmmmm!”

Anyway, my last day in Stockholm and I was anxious to get to it. The first thing I wanted to do was get to the money museum, since it had been closed the day before. So I walked down the hill towards the town center, past the weird statue of a hand that I didn’t quite understand, and made my way to the palace. Okay, across from the palace. The museum was actually kinda neat, different than the one in Helsinki in that it didn’t have nearly as much text to read and a bit of a different slant, which is one of the reasons I really wanted to see it. The day before, over in the palace, one of the exhibits, right before the portrait hall, was on the various orders and medals the kings all wear. You know, you’ve seen those portraits and the guy in the tux is covered with sashes which have dangly bits all dripping down, right? That’s how you know he’s the king (contrary to what Monty Python

No... I don't know which order this was for either...

may say). So all those metal dangly bits are various orders the king belongs to and there are hundreds of different ones. I think the Swedes really enjoy their orders because it seems like every monarch created one or changed one or made himself the grand high poobah of one. There’s the order of the sword and the order of the lance and the sword of St. Michael the brave and the Order of St. Bailey the Courageous and the Star of St. Riley the Cute (I’m just using these as examples, aside from that first one I’m not sure any of them actually exist). I was fascinated by these and wanted a book explaining what they all were and how you got them and what the signified and all that but the only book they had was in Swedish (inconsiderate much?) and cost like 700 Kroner (like all Swedes are made of money – although if you got one of these Orders of the House of Fultonduenas medals you could probably afford the book to explain why you got it in the first place). They did tell me, however, that the money museum might have a book such as I was looking for since it was run by the department of engraving which makes the medals to begin with. So I’m excited.

First floor was a nice history of money, lots of displays with information I couldn’t read and thousands of neat looking coins. Second floor, though, we got to the medals and sure enough, there were a bunch. I took a picture of one I’m still trying to figure out. They also had the world’s heaviest coin up there. I lifted it. It was indeed heavy… about 20 kilos! And it’s square. I learned

Biggest. Coin. Ever!

all about square coins and how they are stamped in all four corners to show the various authorizing agencies and then in the middle to show value.

Afterwards, I expectantly hit the gift shop, looking for my book. No luck. They had the same selection as the palace gift shop so I will never know how I can become a member of the Order of the Underwood. My loss, really.

From there, I only had one more stop on my agenda – The Judiska Museet (Jewish Museum). This is NOT an easy place to find. I wandered around, map in hand for a good twenty minutes before I

Seriously? Would it hurt to add a LITTLE pizzazz?

finally noticed the little sandwich board sign propped up against the door point the way inside. This took the idea of a small, Swedish museum to a whole new level. It was three rooms, and one of those was the combination entry hall/cafeteria/introductory movie auditorium/gift shop! Of the othertwo, one was devoted to the permanent collection and one to a rotating exhibit, this time on the student rebellion of 1968 as well as the deportation of Jews from Poland after the war and their acceptance in Stockholm (yes, it seems like all European countries were offering asylum to the Jews

Self portrait with stars

after the war) and other places. The permanent exhibit consisted of a number of Jewish artifacts rescued from bombed out temples and the like. It was actually very interesting, but the thing which fascinated me the most were the two displays featuring the yellow “jood” stars.

Leaving there I stopped for lunch. I ordered what I thought was a shrimp sandwich. I was told to take a seat and it would be brought out. I was thinking that’s strange. This was something I pointed out in the window, shouldn’t be that hard to slap it on a plate. Oh yeah, and they failed to mention it came with tea or coffee until AFTER I’d paid for my Cola Light! Anyway, I’m sitting outside, enjoying the beautiful day, drinking my tea and coke, when the girl brings out a salad fit for a king (or a member of the Royal Order Of The Moveable Type). It was great! And I didn’t realize I’d been craving a salad until I took my first bite and then I just devoured the thing. I wish now I’d taken a picture of it, but my (admittedly weak) description will just have to do.

The Old Town

Heading back to the hostel to pick up my bag, I did one last card attraction, this elevator to a restaurant (it normally cost 40 Kroner). Like I said, it was a beautiful day so the scenery was

Beautiful day in Stockholm

spectacular! I got my bag and headed for the station. The journey started off just fine, but then, like on the way to Munich, there was a problem with the track so they were going to stop the train, put us on coaches to get us past the problem then back on another train and away we go.

Except…

Except there weren’t enough coaches to get everyone to the other station so I ended up waiting (with a pleasant group of fellow travelers) for about an hour for a bus to arrive, then another hour to get to the pick-up station and then we all waited… and waited.

Look at that delay...

All told, the train was almost 5 hours late. Instead of getting in just before 23:00 it arrived at 3:30am. Instead of getting met by Sonny at the train station and getting a ride to Malin’s house, I had to take a cab with a guy who told me it was his first day on the job. Yes, I felt like I was on Star Tours!

And when I did get to Malin’s, I woke her up (no keys) and then promptly fell fast asleep. It was good to be back in Malmö.

When I had gotten in the night before, there was someone new in my room. Now, when staying at a hostel, this isn’t an unusual thing. In fact, it’s part of the fun of hostelling, meeting the new people. There was a couple in the room as well, they had been there the day before as well and I had spent a few minutes chatting with them, Very nice, from Australia, having trouble reconciling that each of them wanted to do different things with their days on holiday. I mention this only because it might come up later.

Anyway, I get up the next morning and I see a guy in my room, the new guy I mentioned, except as I watch, he’s hoisting my bag on to his bed and going through it. As you can imagine, I’m slightly alarmed. But then I realize it’s not my bag. It doesn’t have my green locks on it, which are fairly distinctive. It’s also slightly smaller than my bag. But of course, in these situations, you take any opportunity to strike up a conversation so I say to this stranger “I thought you had my bag.” He laughs and says “I know, isn’t weird.” In perfect English. Ah…I think to myself. He might be an American! And I was right. His name was Emmanuel and he was indeed from San Francisco. We start chatting and hit it off great (it also turns out we have a LOT of the same gear, thank you REI). We have breakfast together and it turns out he’s got to be at the train station for a 21:00 train to Copenhagen and wasn’t sure what he was going to do with his day. I had some ideas of what I wanted to do with mine, but I went with him to the station, helped him get his bag sorted away in a locker and then we agreed to meet up for dinner later that night.

I took this opportunity to do what you MUST do when in Stockholm… I went to the Nobel Museum. Nobel, as you’ll recall,

The Nobel Museum

invented dynamite. He also invented a whole lot of other stuff and factories to produce it all. He was a true manufacturing giant. When he died, though, he thought he’d give back, so he create a trust to fund an award given to the best and the brightest in several different fields every year. And, just to piss off his countrymen, he told them the winner didn’t have to be a Swede! And so we now have the Nobel Prize and, like so many other museums in Stockholm, it’s nice and small and free with my card! They have a permanent display of the various winners (Isaac Bashevis Singer’s Typewriter is there!) and a revolving display of different things.

The guy invented TNT - do you really want food from his pantry?

When I was there it was a display of marketing centered around atoms. It was odd, trying to figure out a way to sell science to the mass market. I think they did a pretty good job. Now, the downside of these museums is that most of them don’t allow photographs so we’re gonna light on the graphics this time.

So afterwards, I was starving so I grabbed a hot dog and coke light from a street vendor and sat on a bench to rest my feet and eat before going to the next museum. Before too long, a couple sat down next to me, joking this was the diet coke bench since we were all drinking Light (which is one of the European Diet brands of Coke. The other is Coke Zero). Naturally, we struck up a conversation and guess what? Jews from back east America! Marty and his wife (I wish I could remember her name, I’m sorry). We ended up sitting there for an hour, talking Jewish heritage, talking parents and children, talking theatre (they were both directors in New York). Really one of the great, random encounters on which good travel is based.

So I walked them to the main shopping street, said goodbye and I headed to the palace. I wanted to see the inside of one of the last remaining active monarchies in Europe. Granted, this one is only a figurehead and the palace is only used for administrative functions, but still… So there were four things to see in the palace and since my card covered all of them, I was sure I was gonna see them all. At first I headed for the royal apartments, but it was recommended I wait for the guided tour so instead, I went to the

Changing of the Guard

underground parts. This was the site of the original castle, with the original walls, which had burned down in the 1600s. Once I finished up there, it was upstairs to the apartments where I did go on the guided tour. I saw where the heads of state eat and learned all about the regimented balls (the timing is very precise as to when the members of royalty enter and exit – I’d say it was Swiss precision, but that’s a whole other country). After the apartments I took a stroll through several hundred years of monarchy portraiture. Some of these people were very handsome and some…

Guard's been changed

well… some I’m sure were the product of inbreeding and could probably play either part of dueling banjoes with no sense of irony whatsoever.

Then came the rooms I wish I could have brought Riley Addison to… the crown jewels. For different functions and at different ages there were crowns made for the members of the royal family. There were also swords used for coronations and cloaks used for ceremonies, but the crowns were the big draw. They were really beautiful and covered in jewels and gemstones and gold. Just amazing.

Leaving there, I walked across the cobblestones to the Mint Museum but by that time, it was already closed so I ran around to the fourth section of the palace, the antiquary, and had a quick look see through the statues the previous kings had collected. The most impressing pieces, I thought, were a collection of muses. All nine of them. I’m fascinated by the idea of muse and so I was drawn to these pieces. If I’d had more time I would have stayed and studied them longer. I think when I get back I might do a bit of research in that area.

I had about an hour to go before I was to meet Emmanuel for dinner so I hopped a tram back to the hostel (free with card!) dropped off some stuff, then hightailed back to the opera where he was waiting for me. Turns out he didn’t do nearly anything he’d planned, but he did go shopping and found a fabulous outfit! So we wandered around, looking for a place to eat. Eventually we passed a TGI Fridays and he thought it’d be ironic if we stopped in there for a drink, so we did. One drink turned into two,

Retailers know Pride Fest is in town

which turned into nachos and we just had an amazing conversation, We talked about the Australian couple in our room (he didn’t think they were going to last long as a couple, either – very odd dynamic they had) and he asked me some rather thought provoking questions about travel and attitude. See, he was just starting a month of traveling by himself and was nervous. I helped put him at ease. Eventually, we got hungry and found a place for dinner, where the waiter

Emmanuel and I

was a riot and who actually yelled at Emmanuel for leaving a bad tip (but did it in a nice way since it was an honest mistake – we rectified the situation and gave him a decent tip).

We made our way to the train station where he got on towards Copenhagen and I grabbed a metro and headed for home. I still had a number of places to see and my card didn’t expire for 36 hours.