Day 2 - Sep. 3rd.

Predictably, I slept like a rock, and it felt great.  I had a nice Swedish breakfast with coffee and yogurt and muesli.  They have a strange type of pourable yogurt in Sweden--sort of halfway between the consistency of our typical American yogurt, and kefir.  In any case it was pretty good, and a nice way to eat your morning cereal.

I didn't spend too much time before getting into the shower.  Bathrooms in Sweden are, I feel, a great example of Swedish practicality.  Every one I saw was tiled, and built with a drain in the floor.  Jonannes had a flimsy little shower curtain in a standard clawfoot style bathtub, it didn't even wrap around the tub.  I guess it was mostly for modesty, in case someone else was in the bathroom, but it did little to contain any water.  It didn't matter though, because the room was designed to get wet.  Water sloshing out of the tub?  No problem!  It will drain through the floor.  Another demonstration of foresight (or perhaps hard lessons learned ages ago): the plumbing was visible on the outside of the walls, so if you had to fix a leaky pipe, there was no need to bust a hole in the wall to access it.  Smart.

I tore myself away from the admiration of the loo, and we went out to explore more of Stockholm.  In the small amount of research that I did before the trip, one of the museums that seemed to gain universal accord was the Vasa museum.  So, without any better plans, we decided to make it a destination for the day.

We did a little bit of exploring along the way.  We happened across this old church, The Church of St. Clara.  It's apparently unremarkable in comparison to other historic churches, but it was still more impressive than your average church.

We passed by the Stockholm Kulturhus, which was the cultural center and the site of a rare piece of Swedish whimsy (that's a mannequin),

A nice park and promenade along the way:

And finally we arrived at the Vasa Museum.  You can read the Wikipedia page for more details, but basically, the Vasa was built to be the pride of the Swedish navy in the 1620's.  Unfortunately, shipbuilding wasn't an exact science at the time and through several poor turns of fate, the Vasa sank shortly into its maiden voyage.  Lots of fingers were pointed at who may have been at fault, but ultimately nobody was held accountable (quite probably because the king was partly to blame).

In any case, the Vasa was not forgotten.  Various expeditions over the years tried to find it, but it wasn't until the 1960's that it was actually able to be recovered.  Remarkably, since the Baltic sea doesn't host a seaworm that eats wood, the Vasa remained largely preserved.  They were able to raise it from the depths, and have been restoring/preserving it ever since.  It now sits indoors in a dark, climate controlled sarcophagus, viewable by the public.

We managed to tag along with an English guided tour right as we entered, and got a nice little rundown of the ship's history.

The darker wood is the original oak, the lighter wood are new pieces for restoration.  The stern here was rife with symbolism.

 

The poop deck...seriously, that square box is one of two toilets.

 

A sculpture of a Norse or Greek god, meant to intimidate the enemy.  Therry is clearly intimidated.

Ahoy! Note that the platform is slanted, probably would have been a good 150 above the water. Not for the faint of heart. 

Yar har har

A cool model of how the Vasa would have looked under operation.

Another cool model.  This one shows how the boat was likely painted--a lot more vibrant than the Goonies-esque ship we see today. 

 

That bulbous area on the side was for musketeers to fire out of.

Another view of the decorative stern.

There were four floors to explore, and we spent a good three and a half hours there.  We got tired and cold though, due to the darkness and climate control. By that time, we figured we'd seen enough.  Stepping out into the daylight felt great.  We hadn't taken more than a few steps before we were accosted by an elderly American man asking about things to see in the area.  He seemed surprised, no, incredulous that we were American as well.  He was on a cruise and they had the afternoon to roam around.  He asked where we were from, as if he were quizzing us, and was further surprised to learn that we were from Seattle.  Apparently from the area himself, he asked us if we'd ever heard of Lynnwood.  Yes, it's one of the larger suburbs, and I drive through it daily.  He still didn't seem entirely sure of us, but accepted our alibi, wished us a good trip and eventually ambled off.

We walked around looking for a place to eat, and settled on a kebab place, basically a burger joint, but Mediterranean style.  The bill was around $25 for a couple plates and small fountain drinks.  I thought it was a little steep, but then reasoned that a meal of similar proportions wouldn't be much less if we were in a touristy area of Seattle (we happened to be right next to Stockholm's amusement park).  The food was good, but my digestive system had to work overtime to deal with it.  Therry sadly was the victim of friendly fire for the next day or so.  

We wanted to check out the Nordic History Museum, which offered free admission after 5:00 PM, and we had some time to kill.  So we wandered around and ended up exploring what was once the royal game park of the island.  Now, it's a large city park with some historic buildings and monuments scattered around.  It was about as idyllic as you could want for a city park, very well manicured and serene.  I almost felt blasphemous imagining how great of a disc golf course could be installed there.

The gates to the game park

One of the cool old houses in the park. Not sure how one got to live in one of these places, other than knowing the right kind of people.

Not really knowing what to look for, we decided to follow signs for Rosendall's slott.  Slott means "castle" in Swedish, so of course we were interested in seeing a castle.  It turned out to be understated to say the least.  

Nice, but we're not exactly talking Neuschwanstein

A paparazzi style glimpse of the queen's palace.

It turns out that Rosendall's slott was kind of a getaway bungalow for King Karl XIV Johan, in the 1820's, a way to get away from the hustle and bustle of the royal palace.  It was kind of refreshing to see royalty living in a more modest fashion. The palace is open for tours in the summer, but we were a few days late.  We found flyers for a self guided walking tour though, and that was good enough.

The back yard. 

Now that's what I call a bird bath.

Yeah, I could live here.

Not sure what this building originally was, but it was pretty durn cool.

Another house for a fortunate "friend of the family"

'Murcans like Sweden!

After our pleasant walk through the park, we'd killed enough time to make our way to the Nordic  Museum.  

The museum is basically what the name implies, a history of Scandinavian culture, though unsurprisingly, much of it centering on Sweden.  As mentioned, entry was free, and we were able to get little audio guide things.  They were pretty cool, they had an infrared pointer which you could point at different exhibits and hear about the display.

Visitors are greeted by a huge Gustav Adolphus, father of modern Sweden and the guy behind the Vasa

 

 

Another tourist offered to take our pic, complete with our nerd 'phones

The museum turned out to be mildly interesting, but in the end, we were really glad that we hadn't paid for it.  The architecture of the building was really cool, but literally the only picture that either of us took of the exhibits was this piece of work:

Did someone say toad stool?  har har har

 It had been a long day, and we were pretty spent by the time we were done with museum.  We made our way back to the apartment, but Therry had us stop off along the way for a photo op of the city.

Yeah, it was a pretty good view...

We got back on the train and headed to the apartment but not before stopping off to get some food from the market by the station.  We picked up some basic supplies, and decided on some frozen pizzas for dinner.  It was quick and easy, and dammit, pizza sounded good.  We also got some ice cream, because, dammit, ice cream sounded good too.  I volunteered to pay for the groceries, and didn't really know what I was getting into.  

I got to the counter, the cashier rung up all our food, and I swiped my card through the card reader (of course the display was all in Swedish.)  She said something. She said something again. I realized then that she was talking to me and not her coworker, and I was just standing there like an idiot. I told her that I didn't speak Swedish, and she apologized and spoke in English. I guess she'd been repeatedly telling me to hit the green button.  But it wasn't that simple.  Europeans have different credit cards than we do, with RFID chips, and PINs.  Technically I had my debit card, but I wanted to use credit since the fees would be less.  Since I didn't have a high tech European card, they had to process my card differently and check my ID and whatnot. It was apparent that it was one of those transactions they train on, but never have to actually do.  I felt like the asshole who whips out a checkbook and stack of coupons at the grocery store.  They were friendly and all,but I still felt a little embarrassed.  

We got out of there and had some cheap Swedish frozen pizza, which was better than our American cheap pizza, but honestly, anything would have been delicious by that point.

Pizza n' pajamas.  Awwwww yeah.

Big trip of 2014 - Prologue and Day 1

In a departure to what had become the norm in recent years, a motorcycle trip didn't seem in the cards this year.  With my riding partner moved away and a girlfriend without an endorsement or a motorcycle, a different sort of trip seemed inevitable.  Therry, my girlfriend, taught summer school this year to help fund her newly purchased home, so we had a specific window to shoot for if we wanted to take a trip together.  I put in my request with work and made sure we'd have the opportunity to go somewhere. 

We didn't know where, but we both knew we needed to get out of town.  I'd grown accustomed to the somewhat laissez-faire style of trip planning that Chuck and I had adopted in our journeys, much to Therry's consternation.  When she pressed me to decide on something, we'd agreed on tentative plans to explore some of British Columbia and Alberta, ultimately making it to Banff.  It sounded good to me, and so we penciled it in the books.

Then, about a month before our scheduled departure, Therry let me know that a complication had arisen.  Her work had asked her to attend some meetings at her university's sister school in Sweden to discuss the nursing program.  I didn't know the details other than I was jealous of a job that would send her to Sweden, and that it was right around the time we'd scheduled our vacation.  I remarked how I wished that I was being "made" to go to Sweden, and Therry said "Well, do you want to go?"  She threw out the idea of staying after her meetings were done and me flying out to meet her.  Off the bat, I couldn't see much wrong with the plan, so I said, "Sure!"

In the subsequent month, we got our plane tickets bought with some difficulty (it turns out there are complications with having access to internet deals when you're buying international tickets.)  In the end, I ended up getting my ticket for around $1200, which was more than I'd planned on paying, but wasn't too far off the mark from the best of what I was finding online.  With Therry's motivation/prodding, we at least managed to secure a place to stay the first few days in Stockholm, via AirBnB.  We knew we wanted to see Sweden, and made plans to stay with Therry's friend in Copenhagen, but beyond that, our plans were nebulous.

The last couple weeks in August were busy for me, having a motorcycle rally to attend and my dad coming out to visit (both of which I'll try to write about later), my mind wasn't really focused on the trip.  It would be the first time I'd been overseas in 18 years, and part of me was excited by that, but it didn't really seem like a reality until the day before my flight.


Day 1 Sep. 1st. - 2nd 

As mentioned, prior to leaving, my dad had come out to visit.  As it happened with planning, we'd both be flying out of the airport around the same time.  It was a good visit, and fortunately with it being Labor Day, my roommate Erica had the day off.  She volunteered to take us to the airport. and we gladly accepted.

Everything went smoothly at the airport, and my dad and I hung out for as long as we could before going our separate ways.  We hugged, said goodbye and wished each other safe travels.

My first leg to JFK was largely unremarkable, which is exactly how I like my flights.  Therry had done a lot of the legwork in getting my ticket secured, and she'd managed to get me exit row seats on both flights.  It was sort of a score--I had the window seat which usually is desirable, but the rules change a bit when you're in an exit row. It means that you have to contend with the life raft embedded in the door, which takes encroaches on your lateral space.  Basically, you can stretch out, but you'll have to do so at an angle. It was still definitely better than a standard seat though.

Fearing I'd have a major walk ahead of me once I got to JFK, I was pleasantly surprised to find that I actually was flying out of the exact same gate at which I'd arrived.  Heeding Therry's request/advice (she'd seen the alcohol prices in Sweden), I made sure to swing by the duty free shop while laid over, and eagerly awaited my transatlantic leg.

On the flight to Stockholm, not only was I in an exit row, I was in THE exit row.  I was in the first seat in the main boarding area, so I was the first person anyone saw when getting on the plane.  Hi, I'm Tim, I'll be your American on this flight.  It was more than apparent that I was a foreigner on this plane--there was lots of talking going on, and the only English I heard was an American flight attendant ineptly trying to make small talk with boarding Swedes.

It was going to be a long flight and I was ready to get underway.  But as air travel seems to go for me, fate had other plans.  We sat for a long time.  Since I was next to the door, the annoying American attendant kept asking me if I'd seen the jetway move.  I repeatedly told her no.  It turned out that a passenger was a no-show, but his luggage had made it to the plane.  Regulations dictated that they remove the luggage, but since it was already loaded, that had to sift through all the bags to find it.  Of course, it was one of the first loaded, so last found.  About an hour late, the jetway pulled away and we eventually taxied out and were able to fly.

After a long flight, and attempted slumber, we landed in Stockholm.  I was officially on foreign soil, and not exactly sure what to do with myself.  Therry had given me detailed instructions, which helped immensely, and I mostly just followed the crowd and pretended like I knew what I was doing. I must have done it convincingly because several other travelers asked me about what they should be doing.  Even though I had paid Verizon an extortion fee to use my phone in Europe, it didn't fully work when I landed, so I sent a $.50 text to Therry telling her that I was on the ground, and I'd only text again if I had trouble.

Thanks to Therry's instructions, I was able to figure out the queue system at the information desk, and procure a Stockholm 72 hour travel pass.  I found my way to the bus, and then caught a commuter train to the central station, where I'd rendezvous with Therry.  I did all right, I only almost got hit by one bus, and didn't know how to operate one elevator.  I found Therry without much issue--Filipinos weren't so prevalent there.  It was good to see her after over a week, and also good to see a familiar face in a foreign land.

I was exhausted, but it was still early in the day.  I was up for seeing some of the city, but wanted to put my feet up for a bit first.  We boarded another train and made our way to our AirBnB apartment, Johannes' place.  It was about a 15 minute train ride, and a 5 minute walk to get to Johannes', but it seemed like a nice enough place. (Finally, pictures!)

Just a basic studio apartment

Having a kitchen was one of our few requirements

View from the balcony

 After a bit of relaxation, a bite to eat, and a celebratory swig of duty free, we made our way back to the heart of Stockholm to visit Gamla Stan, which literally means "Old Town."   As the name implies, it's the old part of Stockholm, dating back to the 1200s.

A picture of the train we rode in on, or one like it

This was an emblem indicating that the house had paid the fire tax. If you wanted firemen to put out your house fire, you would have wanted one of these on your doorway.

A runestone as part of a building's foundation. Along with similarly illegible modern graffiti.

A view of Riddarholm Church 

In front of the Royal Palace

Iron Boy the smallest statue in Stockholm.

Rubbing his head for luck, with what I deigned an appropriately touristy smile. Are you feelin' lucky, punk? Well, are you?

Stortoget, or The Big Square, basically Times Square of medieval Stockholm

What a lovely place for a bloodbath.

By this point, we were pretty hungry.  Well, Therry was pretty hungry. I thought that I might be hungry, but not exactly sure what hour my body was on, my stomach didn't know what it wanted.  We looked at some places nearby in Stortorget and in other parts of Gamla Stan, but decided to look elsewhere that wasn't in the heart of tourist town.

Along the way though, Therry did take me to a science fiction book shop which appealed hugely to the nerd in me (e.g. me in general).  Not only did they have the implied great selection of sci fi books, but also a great selection of graphic novels, manga, DVDs, and tabletop gaming supplies.  I was somewhat interested in picking up a book with a snazzy cover that we don't normally get in the states, but didn't see anything that caught my eye, or that I wanted to lug around for another two weeks.  Still a great shop though, I wish we had something similar in Seattle.

We got on the train and went a couple stops to Sodermalm, where there were a bunch of restaurants.  We decided to check out this place called Snaps, it seemed popular and trendy, so we gave it a go.  I wanted something authentically Swedish, so I ordered köttbullar, aka Swedish meatballs, with lingonberries. Therry got some sort of shrimp pasta dish, and we had a couple glasses of wine along with the meal.

The bags under my eyes and far off stare indicate that the flight has caught up with me.

The meal was nice.  It wasn't extraordinary, it certainly wasn't bad, it was...nice.  The bill came to something like $70, which was to be my first shock of the expense of Scandinavia.  Therry treated me to dinner, and didn't seem affected by the cost as much as I, but I was pretty taken aback.  I figure something like that would cost $40 at an overpriced "trendy" Seattle restaurant.  At least tipping wasn't expected here.

After dinner was a blur, we went back to the apartment, and I think I was barely able to get my shoes off before I fell asleep.

Spring cleaning, and the next chapter

The last known picture of the SV

The day has finally come to pass.  The SV, my faithful steed and rite of passage, has now moved on to a new owner.

At the end of last riding season, I had grand plans of revitalizing the old girl, putting on a fresh paint job, maybe a new exhaust, new suspension--who knew, it was as much as my imagination would allow.  Although, there was also the factor of budget, which was of course a significant hurdle.  Not to mention other intangibles, namely skill and motivation.  Suffice to say, my I found other ways to keep myself occupied during the winter, and not much was done to the SV.  And since my living situation has me in close proximity to my neighbors, and the SV wasn't exactly the most discreet sounding bike (especially at 6:30 AM), I just wasn't riding it, at all.  So, with a heavy heart, I came to the conclusion it was best to sell it.

Even the preparation to sell it was more of an endeavor than I meant it to be.  I had some basic maintenance to do, as well as a thorough cleaning and removal of accessories.  Somehow I kept finding other things to do that sounded more entertaining.  But little by little, I got more done.  By the way, one of the most time consuming and aggravating steps was trying to clean off the gunk that had cemented itself to the underside of the engine from the construction on the Going-to-the-Sun Road in Glacier.  I had to apply copious amounts of vaporous solvents and elbow grease to get that stuff off.   I was one step short of reaching for a hammer and chisel.

Anyway, after a couple months of procrastination and re-prioritization, I had the bike up in what I hoped would be a sellable condition.  With a bit of trepidation, I placed an ad on Craigslist and hoped for the best.  The initial results weren't promising.  With the recent trend of great weather, and what I thought was a competive price, I'd hoped for a slew of emails.  Instead, I had a lukewarm response at best.

A guy contacted me asking if I'd be interested in trading for a living room set, and possibly a Sig Sauer once he regained posession.  I had a couple of responses which didn't even consist of complete words, let alone sentences.  And I had one guy just asking to let him know when it sold, so he could know how much he could sell his for. Needless to say, it was hardly the encouraging situation I was hoping for.

But, I refreshed my ad later in the week, and had a more positive response.  One guy contacted me with actual complete words, sentences, AND punctuation, so I made sure to not let that opportunity pass me by.  He informed me he'd owned a couple of SVs in the past, and liked the looks of mine and we corresponded a couple days sorting out some of the finer details until he could come by and see it in person.

When the day came, it turned out that he was in fact helping his friend pick out a good first bike, and they appeared to be a more affluent version of Chuck and me.  They were both contracted engineers at Boeing, the guy was riding a KTM SuperDuke, and the friend was driving a pretty slick looking BMW.  The guy was also significantly more experienced and knowledgeable than us, upon shaking hands, he got right down to business and gave the SV a thorough looking over.  It was the equivalent to a physical, complete with the prostate exam.

He quickly spotted flaws in the bike, which I'd been hoping wouldn't be noticed, or I'd just grown so accustomed to that I hadn't thought about in a long time.  But all in all, he seemed OK with what he saw. While he took it out on a test ride, I sat and chatted with his friend, who sounded much like me a few years ago.  He'd always wanted a bike, he had a friend that knew a bunch about motorcycles, and with all the great weather we've been having and seeing other bikers out, his desires were getting that much stronger.

When the guy came back from the test ride, he was straightforward with what his thoughts were.  All in all, the bike seemed sound, but the exhaust needed some work (leaks at the joints) and the clutch felt like it probably needed to be replaced soon.  So after a quick bout of negotiation, we agreed on a price $300 under what I was asking, and called it a deal.  Soon after, I was given cash, the title was signed over, and I watched my old friend ridden off to a new stage in life.

It was a weight off my shoulders, to have the SV sold, since it was more or less collecting dust for the past year.  But naturally, I'm experiencing a period of bereavement, thinking of the good times we had together.  The first night of me taking it out for a ride with Chuck, and the agonizing incident of repeated stalls as I tried to make it through an intersection, with Chuck blocking traffic for me.

Or the first extended trip that Chuck and I did, circumnavigating the Olympic Peninsula.  It had been a largely boring ride, mostly just a straightish 2 lane highway with periods of trees and deforestation. But then upon reaching the northern section of the route, the road got twisty and interesting, and I got my first real taste of the exhilaration of hammering the throttle through turns.  I'm sure my technique was cringeworthy, but those few miles of road remain some of my fondest memories in motorcycling.

Naturally, other moments stand out when I think of the SV: my first real road trip, touring solo through Oregon; an impromptu weekend getaway to Horning's Hideout with Chuck; and of course, our big trip out to Glacier.  Even though it wasn't a top of the line bike, was a little long in the tooth, maybe not the most stylish, it was a great machine.  It taught me how to ride, took me where I wanted, was ultra reliable, even when neglected, and I never got bored on it.  I took it out for a quick test ride before the guys came to look at it, and still, it gave me tingles with with its exhaust note, quick acceleration and nimbleness that the Tiger, for all it's superiority, can't replicate.

So it's no surprise that seeing the SV go is a bittersweet transition for me.  Of the ways to go though, this surely is the best.  I'm much happier to see her going on to a new home to a new rider, rather than ending up as a collection of bent metal at the scrap yard.  I just hope that he treats it well, and is able to derive at least a fraction of the enjoyment I got during my ownership.  Now I'm just left with a void in the garage.  And I ponder if it will be filled, and if so, what that might be.

The severed apron string of the battery tender