Of Moats & Memories

This morning was our day to go to church in Lund. Craig has been really looking forward to this day because he thought he had his best chance of finding some old friends here, where he served five months on his mission. Sure enough, both the current bishop and the former branch president were there, and wonder of wonders, they remembered him! (He is kind of hard to forget...)

Craig had fun chatting with them and we got photos with them both. (How much they actually remember from 33 years ago is hard to tell: a lot, if they have elephant memories like Craig, none at all, if they have gerbil memories like me.) Craig also got the address of a man who'd been baptized when he served here.

After church, we drove out to Landskrona, where Craig hunted down his old apartment. (I told you, the man has the memory of an elephant - an elephant with Google.)

Then we went to see the Landskrona Slott (castle.) It was built in 1549 by the Danish King Christian III. It had TWO moats - an inner and an outer. (Sadly, the interior of the castle was closed and we couldn't tour the dungeon.) Now I know what I want for my birthday!

Raise the Drawbridge!!

Gather the peasants and the animals, we are under attack!!

 

 

Cool trapdoor.

 

Craig hunted down his friend from 33 years ago in his apartment. The poor guy was shirtless, watching a film with a guest, so he didn't invite us in, but, as we talked at the door, you could see his memory cells struggle to the surface until he finally said, "Now I remember you!" (Like I said, Craig is hard to completely forget.)

Tomorrow we knock another country off our (admittedly tiny) list. We are going to drive across the Øresund bridge to Denmark!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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All the King's Horses

Having a fun day here in Lund. The old ivy covered buildings and cobblestone streets give me just what I'm looking for when I travel: I want to look around me and say, "Toto, I don't think I'm in Kansas anymore." Sometimes that feeling is hard to get when there's a McDonalds or KFC around every corner, but I feel it here.

Sleeping beauty must be here somewhere

 

 

Today Craig rented a car (A Peugot! With all the fancy stuff!) and we drove out into the countryside to see King Gustaf's horses. It's a sight to make every horse owner pea green with envy. Stable after glorious old stonework stable, arenas glassed in like a fine hotel, Fine warmbloods in pristine pastures, each one shod to perfection. No worries about paying the feed bill or blacksmith here! The rest of princesshood - dancing, dresses, courtiers bowing, that sort of stuff never held much appeal for me but this, THIS would make any horsey girl dream of marrying the prince who held the reins to this castle.

 

 

All the King's manure:

 

 

 

 

 

Unique Swedish countryside road signs:

 

 

 

 

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Always Go First Class If You Can

 

This is our last morning with Natalia and Olga at the B and B in Göteborg. She fixes us a fabulous Swedish breakfast of Salad, fish, and Swedish pancakes, then hands us a little lunch because, "everyone eats on the train." We have really enjoyed our time with her and I can tell Craig's rusty Swedish is improving by leaps and bounds as they converse in Swedish. Natalia and I converse in broken English and gestures with a lot of facial expression. We have really enjoyed our time with her. To me, places like Natalia's home are what's fun about staying in a bed and breakfast instead of a hotel. You really get to enjoy people and local culture instead of just a bed and a shower.

Craig really has the travel options figured out in Göteborg, so instead of a long uphill trudge carrying all our luggage, we zip right over to the city center on the ferry, trot through the mall, and there we are at the train station. The number of beggars at the train station is really astonishing. They are everywhere - all women, all of some sort of middle-Eastern descent. Some are old, but many are young and appear well-dressed and healthy. In a socialist economy like Sweden, we don't understand why these women are begging. Some are quite insistent. Craig thinks it's worse than Mexico and says there was nothing like this when he was here three decades ago. He gives them our leftover bus passes- which still have 8 rides remaining - to an elderly woman but has to resist the attentions of many others. They pretty much leave me alone, suggesting that they do better with men, I guess.

Since we were stuck sitting separately in second class last time, we have paid the small extra charge for First Class reserved seats. It's pretty similar except the seats are bigger, and we have a table. This train goes all the way to Copenhagen, Denmark and that gives us the idea of adding Denmark to our itinerary. Perhaps we'll do that Monday.

 

At dinner tonight, Craig ordered what he thought was venison (roe) and got fish eggs on toast instead. Gastronomic surprises abound when you can't quite read the menu...

We walk down the cobblestone streets (lovely to look at - a royal pain to pull suitcases along) to our next B and B. This is a small private apartment, not a shared house. Craig spent the first five months of his mission in Lund and has been looking forward to this city more than any other. Tomorrow, we explore.

 

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Pressbyrån och Poseiden

Today was our last day in Göteborg. We did traditional sightseeing, this time taking the ferry into town instead of the bus. We saw the famous Poseidon statue and trotted in and out of a lot of little shops. I'd hoped to get a T shirt or sweatshirt, but there was a distinct lack of touristy stuff. We did get a postcard to send to James in Japan; now isn't that just thrilling?

Swedish Fish - these are less sweet and more gummy than their American counterparts.

The ferry is more fun than the bus!

Swedish for "speed bump."

Swedish pepperoni pizza

Swedish market - note unrefrigerated eggs. We only have to refrigerate ours in the United States because we wash them, which removes the protective coating provided against bacteria by the hen.

Not sure who this guy was. We saw him every day. We called him Paul Revere.

Writing a postcard to the baby boy.

The Pressbyrån is Craig's new favorite haunt - like a 7-11 with bus tickets, postage stamps, and most importantly FREE WI-FI so he can use his travel app to figure out how to get everywhere.

Craig and the local fuzz. (Another recreation of a picture 33 years ago.) They were polite - but they thought he was weird for wanting a picture. Craig says that 33 years ago, the Swedish Polis did not carry sidearms, and those he spoke with were very proud of that. Either this was a rough part of town, or things have changed for the worse. Very sad, either way.

Pay toilets on the street - travel is more expensive for some of us than others....

 

Cozy, don't you think?

Craig and Poseidon (Another re-creation)

This is what happens if you order Swedish Meatballs at an Italian place run by a Middle Eastern immigrant in Sweden. The purple stuff is pickled beets.

Craig petting the resident B and B cat "Angel."

 

Craig can't fight his veterinary impulses and proceeds to give poor Angel an examination. She is fine, but a shade thin.

 

 

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Island in the sun

Today we decide to take advantage of the Swedish ferry system which considers them just another bus or tram. There are many tiny islands in the Göteborg archipelago. Most reviews have people spending an hour or so on each - sitting at the beach, having lunch in a cafe, walking the island paths, with comfortable cheap boat rides in between. We arrive and puzzle over the map of the islands. Which one shall we try first? I blithely paraphrase Lewis Carroll:

"Which road do I take?" Alice asked the cat.

"Where do you want to go?" was his response.

"I don't know," Alice answered.

"Then," said the cat, "It doesn't matter."

We decide to simply get on the next ferry that docks, then ride it to the end of the line and island hop back. We have a lovely boat ride with the sun shining and the wind in our hair. The boat docks last at Stora Förö. Hmm - not much here - a few houses, tiny beach, one room store - let's go on to the next islet. Except - we've landed on an island so infrequently visited that there's only a ferry every four hours. So much for lunch and island hopping.

But it isn't bad. We sit at the postage stamp beach and watch kids fish for crabs using pieces of mollusks they pull from under the dock, then pound with a rock to get the meat to bait their pole with. The crabs crawls on to the line - no hooks that we see, and the kids shake them off into a bucket. We get the nice people at the tiny store to put the coke we buy in their ice cream freezer and come back for it in an hour when it's cold.* We traipse around the island paths, eat the bread and cheese Natalia insisted we bring when she heard we were going to the islands (good call, Natalia!) and sit on the rocky shore watching sailboats and sea birds.

When I sit there for a long time - no phone, no noise from humans - only the cry of birds and sound of the wind and the warmth of Craig's arm around my shoulders, a feeling of peace descends, quieting my restless spirit. I wish that I could go back a hundred years, a thousand, a million, on this very summer day and see what this huge rock has seen.

At last the ferry arrives and we zip back to reality. We have seen only one island, and a tiny one at that, but we are not displeased with our time spent here.

After our little voyage and yesterday's excursions, we decide to stay close to our B and B for the evening. I chat with Natalia about the trials of having teenagers (the same the world around) and Craig and I get a pizza - swedish style. Pepperoni here is a Jalapeno type pepper and they top the pizza with some sort of meat that tastes a little like barbequed chicken. It's good. We buy fresh strawberries from a street vendor - tiny and very sweet and eat them with ice cream at the bar with Natalia and Olga. Unlike yesterday's hustle and bustle, today has been a calm reflective day to enjoy nature and each other.

 

 

*I love a lot of things about Sweden: the well organized and inexpensive public transport system, the friendly people (who all speak English - a real plus), the cleanliness and beauty of the neighborhoods but..........you can't get a cold drink here to save your life. We found the same thing in Iceland and a few years ago when we visited the Yukon. It must be a mindset. Evidently, if you live in a place where you spend most of your year walking on and shoveling off ice - the last place you want to see the stuff is in your drink. At restaurants and B and B's, they bring a carafe of tap water to your table. Ask for ice and, IF they have it at all - they bring you a measly 2 cubes that melt as soon as you put your water in. Coke is cooled - maybe - a bit below room temperature, but not to the ice cold standards we've come to enjoy in the States. I'm walking around Sweden on the brink of dehydration and collapse, mainly because I can't stand to drink tepid water. Yeah, yeah, talk about a first world problem, right?

 

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