Sweden - Entry 1

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

T-Minus one day ‘til Sweden. Getting packed. Concerned the luggage would be excessively heavy. Felt that way. We put the scale in the kitchen, and I stepped on to get my weight. 235-ish. Picked up each suitcase and then stepped back onto the scale. Each very close to 50#. We’ll see at the airport.

I ran errands in the morning. Picked up a few electrical outlet adaptors / converters and some case for the Currency Exchange. When I was out, Allie called me via Skype and we had a nice chat. She gave me a few pointers about getting the bus from Arlanda to Stockholm’s train station. She made several suggestions about where I could go during my layover in Stockholm: Arleans – Sweden’s answer to Harrods; a square whose feature is triangular black and white tiles (and shady drug dealers); and the bridge into Gamla Stan (Old Stockholm).

I later talked with my boss who was pleasant, had no issues and who I told I thought I’d be able to be reached by email as I’d had T-Mobile activate the International Email add on. She dismissed that and said she intended not to bother me. I thanked her for permitting me to swap around some mandated (earlier) vacation time off. She said I’d done a lot for her, that I knew that, and she was happy to approve the time off. A nice and welcome affirmation.

Dashing to Dulles

We left the airport later than I’d hoped. A lot was going on that day, including the kids’ Cedarbrook Academy picnic. We also had to take Caleb by Fairlands so he could get to work on time (in this case, 2 hours early). I’m afraid I let my angst over this show. Alice seemed tense (sorry for that, dearie), but Caleb and I hugged warmly at Fairlands and off we went to Dulles. Traffic was very light and we made good time.

At the airport, one bag was under 50# (23 kg.), and one was over. Removed one book and my dopp kit and re-weighed it. Still a bit over, but the agent let it slide. So, the 22 pairs of baseball pants, the 34 inch Louisville Slugger ash model 110 baseball bat, the three pair of batting gloves, the two bottles of pine tar and pine tar rag, the one dozen dimpled yellow “Jugs” pitching machine baseballs, and the commemorative plaque made at Dottie's Trophies in Laurel, Maryland, a bottle each of A-1 and Worcestershire sauce, two jars of Skippy peanut butter, two tubes of Arm and Hammer Baking Soda toothpaste, two large bags of semi-sweet dark chocolate chips, and two Scottish Festival CDs were on their way to Sweden. Oh, and also my things.

At the Currency Exchange, I bought 4,900 Swedish Kronas – a special running that will permit me to turn in any unused for no fee, and also lowered my service charge.

Emily met us (me, Alice, and Calvin) at Harry’s Tap Room, and we shared a toast prior to my going to Security. It was all too soon time to go. We all kissed and hugged and I went and got in line.

I went through Security. Oy! The dopp kit! I didn’t fit all my 3 ounce liquid containers into the G.I. 1 quart Ziploc bag! What was I thinking? My boots were subjected to further examination. They were deemed fit to board and fly. All this rushing made me hungry, so I ate a sub at Potbelly, accompanied by Pennsylvania’s finest brewed refresher – Yuengling. Yum.

Boarded a 747. Wow! Big plane. Wow! Small seats. Hard, too. Jealous of the business classers who stretched out in front of their personal seat back video screens. Now, now.

Airborne

Take off uneventful. Amazing that something as big as a 747 can fly. God's physical and aerodynamic laws at work.

Had a nice “second dinner” accompanied by a nice white wine (I made it out to be a Riesling) X2 and then a cognac a bit later.

Took off at 1816 EST. Set my watch “Time 2” to CET: 0116.

Nodded off for a little over an hour and awoke to find I’d missed “happy time.” My seat mate had disposed of a Pauliner as I napped. On the house. Wow.

At three hours, my row emptied for a stretch and a pee. I grabbed my pen, a book, my journal, MP3 player and gum from the overhead.

The audio and video offerings were varied. I was half watching the video monitors, while listing to native Laplander wedding music when what should appear on the screen but Mickey Mouse, Pluto, 101 Dalmatians, Cruella Deville. And the cartoons rolled. Earlier blogged predictions dashed – I did, in fact, encounter Disney on the way to Europe.

Let’s Call It Thursday, April 23, 2009

In between movie (Inklings with Brendan Frasier – in German with English subtitles) and other shorts, the monitors would show via GPS the flight progress. At 0545 CET we were traveling metrically at 972 km / hr, at 11,887 meters altitude, SW of Ireland and passing over the coast of Killarney and Cork. This was 879 miles from Frankfurt (at 603 mph, 39,000 ft. altitude), and it was -70ºF.

At 0615 CET, we were flying over the Great Britain, between Bristol and Plymouth. Speed was 570 mph, distance remaining to Frankfurt was 566 miles. Altitude was 39,000 feet, and the outside temperature was -86ºF. 1:11 flight time remaining. 313 miles flown in 30 minutes. At this time, the morning repast was delivered, and I dined on a granola bar, Monterey jack cheese, fruit cup, a roll, OJ, and coffee. The sky ahead was beginning to lighten noticeably.

Aberystwith was shown on the map, and I prayed for David Dusenbury who is there now.

My eyes burn from no sleep. I have a dull headache, but the coffee seems to have helped.

We’re now over Brighton and Dunkirk. Crossing the English Channel.

Frankfurt Airport

Landed without incident. German countryside from above very interesting and pretty. Heavily wooded around towns and city. Foggy, but burning off in some places. Broken clouds with blue sky in between. Taxied and disembarked at Terminal A. Hoofed it over to Terminal B. Made it in plenty of time. Had to flash passport and go through Security. In Deutschland they don’t make you take off your shoes. It was 0733 CET.

Poked around. Got a chocolate croissant, a Bavarian (I presume) pretzel, and really good cup of coffee, three postcards and a bottle of wasser. I window shopped at the Duty Free. Struck out on Starbucks, so no Frankfurt mug this time. Found a much needed Herren-room where, in addition to typical functions, I washed my face, brushed my teeth, took my vitamins and was considerably more pleasant to be around.

It came time to board, so through the gate I went. Down the switchback stairs. Onto the sidewalk and onto . . . a waiting bus(?!). The bus hauled us ten minutes back to the same terminal at which I’d arrived. I saw my very same 747. I walked 2 miles to Gate B-12. Then, rode 2 miles back to Gate A-something. We got off the bus, walked across the tarmac, and climbed the steps to board the plane. So much for German efficiency.

Took off without incident. 30 minutes into flight, the food service began. Choices were ham or cheese sandwiches on a long narrow soft pretzel. Tasty. Beverage choices included “still water” – not carbonated, as well as bier. I didn’t fulfill my plan of having a bratwurst and bier while on German soil, as I had a dull headache. But, as I was still in German airspace, I had a Warsteiner in flight. Check the box. Yum.

Passed Hamburg on the port side of plane at 1056 CET. Will be over Copenhagen, Denmark soon.

1105 CET – over the Baltic Sea.

My seat mate is a German lady. She spoke little English. I offered her some of my gum. She passed. Later, she offered (and I accepted) a liquid coffee candy. Yum.

Arrived In Stockholm

We landed safely. I bought some Stockholm souvenirs on my way to baggage claim. Both bags made it. Opened each and determined that they’d both been gone through with no delicacy. The contents of each were a hot mess. But, the A1 and Worcestershire sauce were intact, as was all the baseball stuff.

I found my way to customs and walked right out. No stops. No issues. I might have been heard mumbling “I’m invisible. I’m invisible. I’m invisible.”

I located the Flygbussaran and traveled to Stockholm. The country side was pretty. Lots of birch trees and rocks. Boulders of all sizes scattered around 10,000 years ago by hastily departing glaciers. Several stops along the way, but was at the Central Terminal in 45 minutes. The station was impressive, but not quite as pretty as DC’s Union Station or NYC’s Grand Central Terminal. Bigger that DC’s Union Station.

Found the luggage lockers and stowed the two big bags. A lady accidentally let her locker key fall from her hand. It slid into the coin return slot. A million in one chance. I had a small metal ruler that served to rescue the key. That’s right. “Jag heter Chuck Heidel, Amerikansk . . . at your service.”

I went up to the street and made my way to the Gamla Stan. Walked the streets and shops for an hour or so. Chatted with a lady on the way – a Swede who had spent several years in Cooperstown, NY – Hmm. Interesting baseball connection. Had a pistachio glass (ice-cream). Yum. Found a bike shop, but there was nothing worth buying. I talked with the guy a while and “tacked” him as I left.

I saw a wine bar with sidewalk seating. The stools were huge corks. Cool.

Gamla Stan had narrow cobbled streets. Lots of shops, boutiques, cafes, bars, and restaurants. Huge variety of people for watching. Tats, piercings, polychrome hair art, Goths, bicyclists of all ages, and octogenarians pushing wheeled walkers.

I hoofed it back to the station and spotted my train on the scheduling board. Had time. So, I had a beer. Carlberg 5.2%. Yum.

I found an internet café and sent an email to the family, letting them know that I’d made it to Stockholm. Nothing much from work. That’s a good thing.

I got my luggage from the lockers and took the elevator (Sw: “hiss”) down to the concourse level. I snaked my way around to just below my track. The signs to track 12A lead me to the bottom of a flight of stairs with 100# of luggage.. I whirled around somewhat panicked, and spotted an elevator. It was broken. Boo, hiss. In the spirit of Bob Needham’s Italian adventure, I backed up two flights, a step at a time, pulling both suite cases to the top. Hogged 2/3 of the width of the flight of stairs. The Swedish tour guides are correct. No one got upset – they just thought upsetting things.

As the train pulled in, I realized I was in Car 13. Standing at wrong end of platform. I humped it down the platform to the other end, nearly plowing through bystanders and innocents. Got to the car. Heaved both bags onto the train and grabbed a seat. Shortly after, a very nice Swedish lady appeared and informed me I was in her seat. Oops. Sure enough. My seat was reserved and was at the other end of the car. I moved. The conductor scanned my ticket and told me Mjolby would be the fourth stop. I’ll need to pay attention.

En Route to Tranas

I nodded off for 45 minutes, but awoke to stunning scenery flashing by. Thick pine and birch stands, rough and rocky boulder deposits, outcroppings and “plops.” Farms and fields just ploughed. Homes along the way were all interestingly colored. Red, mustard yellow, sea foam green, burgundy. Each level’s exterior was painted in alternating colors. Building material richly textured. Stucco, corrugated metal, ceramic tiles. Beautiful tree-lined lakes with docks, swim-dive platforms (for the last week in August when the water temperature rises to 68ºF, before freezing solid again on September 1), fishing piers, boat slips, and boat houses.

I arrived at Mjolby (pronounced Mule-bee) on schedule and had 30 minutes to kill. Grabbed a hot dog and Diet Coke. Mjolby is a quaint town. Bikes all over. Wanted to try the Pizza-Kebab place across the street, but not enough time, and too much luggage. Oh well – perhaps both too American.

From Mjolby, I rode a commuter rail line through Boxholm to Tranas. I sat next to a young woman with a pram and baby. Another passenger was a guy with long blonde hair (as had the woman). I thought they were a couple. At Boxholm, she got off. He went on to Tranas. He wore a pink paisley scarf like an ascot. “Dude!” I said . . . . Kidding! I said nothing.

Allie met me at Tranas. Great to see her. We hugged a long moment. I said “Well, this is weird.” She replied, “Tell me about it.” We laughed.

David Leander brought his VW van. We loaded the bags in the van and toodled off to the apartment complex. David’s daughter Josefina and son Ewan were along for the ride. Both very cute. Blonde. Neither said a word. I gave David the Louisville Slugger. We decided we’d hand off the other goods later.

Allie had made a delicious stew and we paired that with flatbread (knacke), cheese and butter. A good time to chat and catch up. I told her about my journey: the hard 747 seats, the excellent cabin service, time spent in Frankfurt airport, the lady on the plan to Stockholm. She told me of her plans and to-dos in the week ahead.

After dinner, we walked to the ball field where the tournament will be May 1 and 2. The scoreboard is erected and is being painted. A lot of hard work over the years clearing the field of trees and rocks, planting grass and manicuring it. The back fence is a perimeter of fallen logs. Here's the play by play announcer Sven Svenson (imagine Muppets' Swedish Chef inflections): Here's the pitch . . . it's a hit . . . it’s a long one . . . oh my . . . it's, it's, it’s over the . . . log! Must allow for cultural differences.

We went to the Activity Center (the AC) and did some email. Two Lithuanians were there. They’re on David Leander’s baseball team. Colin arrived – good to meet him. He’s Allie’s fellow intern. An hour or so later we went back to the apartment. I was hungry, so had some cheese and knacke, with blackberry jam and milk. Yum.

I brushed my teeth and went to bed at 2230. Had been up 36 hours. Fell right to sleep.