traveling as a grown up

Some of you, in the past year or so, have expressed the desire to stay with me and explore Sweden. After the past week, I find it necessary to articulate a few expectations so that everyone has a pleasant experience without any misunderstandings, hard-feelings or disappointments.

Here's the short list of guiding principles that guests of ours will need to agree to when accepting my (and Tobey's) hospitality here in Sweden:

1. We will happily drive you around and show you the local attractions -- for this courtesy, you will be expected to fill up the gas tank at least once. Yes, it will be expensive (to fill a 15-gallon tank of gas now costs around $90), but you are assured to have a better time than you would with any "tourist trap" outfit.

2. I will be thrilled to prepare daily meals for you while you are here -- for my effort, you will be expected to help out and pay for a generous portion of the groceries so that Tobey and I do not incur all the costs of feeding you. You are an adult and should not expect a free ride while you are here.

3. We live in the rural countryside on a gorgeous island about 45 minutes from Sweden's 2nd largest city, Göteborg. We do not normally venture into the city for dancing, drinking or other types of partying. Should this be something you wish to experience, it will be best that you book a hotel room in the city and we can meet you during the day.

4. While you stay with us, we will provide you a bed, a daily hot shower and laundry service once or twice (depending on the length of stay). We have opened our home to you and want you to have a wonderful time -- in exchange, you will "surprise" Tobey and me by taking us out for a nice dinner in Göteborg once during your stay. We will expect it, but we promise to act surprised at the gesture.

The things I am allowed to say

Sometimes things are better left unsaid. I don't often follow this advice, but I'm going to do my damndest to avoid writing the negative of the past week. It'll be better for everyone that way. However, if I happen to see you or speak with you, I will happily complain about the social ineptitude of people...some people...a particular person.

But trust me, I have learned a thing or two about hospitality in the past week. Some of it was my fault: I didn't "load up the front end" by laying down some rules and expectations so that no one would be confused or disappointed. But some of it, no most of it, was just sheer rudeness.

Now for the good stuff.

Sweden is absolutely beautiful right now. Seriously. Gorgeous. The garden grows, tomatoes and strawberries are starting to form and the lilac smells divine.

Copenhagen was brilliant. Warm, friendly, hoppin'. Lille Havrefru smiled at us and then we ate smørrebrød, drank Tuborg and sipped cappucino at Café Europa, where the world's best coffee (they've won competitions to prove it) is served.

Last weekend, I visited a new place--for me, anyway--just outside Göteborg, called Gunnebo Slott (Gunnebo Castle...except it isn't; it's a private residence--a very wealthy one) where I happened upon a wedding party and stole a few shots for practice...

Because the plane's been booked, Starbuck's and Greenlake await, the camera's loaded and Helena and Doug are getting married. Just 6 short weeks until I'm back in Seattle.

Visiting Sweden

At least it's not me this time. But watching someone else go through it is almost as bad.

Jet lag

Poor Susan. She arrived on Tuesday and ever since has been either walking around in a fog, sleeping or vomiting. Is vomiting a normal symptom of jet lag? Or could it just her equilibrium is still "unequalized?"

We've toured a little around Göteborg and Tjörn. I even got to see something new myself: ancient Viking burial grounds. By ancient I mean 2,500 years ago. And to think, it's less than 5 miles from my house.

As silly as I would normally think it is to take pictures of gravesites, I did anyway because it looked so Blair Witch Project. I'll post them soon.

Nytt Mål

I love hiking around the woods, strolling through the gardens and hitting the pavement to explore new cities. I do not, however, run. But the other night, after becoming filled with self-hatred for not doing a damn thing all day, I began walking...

And ended up running for over an hour.

I left the house at 8.30 PM with the sun still shining fairly high and bright. And returned at almost 10.00 PM with the sun beginning to set. This is, after all, Sweden--and summer has nearly arrived.

When I say run what I really mean is "moving slightly faster than walking, with a little bounce thrown in for good measure." I told Tobey about my adventure and he immediately responded with "why did you do that?" followed by "we could run together."

See, I don't want to be a runner. I did it because it just felt like the right thing to do at the time. I could hear neither the birds chirping nor people talking in their yards nor even the wind. I want to do this alone--aware only of my own rhythm and heart and breath. Running for some may be a social experience but for me it will be a private and meditative one.

And I just don't want to have to keep up with anyone else.

I even have a goal.

This time next year I will finish Göteborgs Varvet--Göteborg's Lap. A half marathon.

They're Really Freaking Out Here...It's Wonderful

Last night I did something that apparently could be the tipping point in turning me into a bonafide European. It was at once embarrassing and enjoyable.

I watched Eurovision Song Contest.

And I take solace in the fact that I was not alone. Open-air parties all over Europe, like the one in Hamburg (which is the source of the title of this post), had people cheering and dancing and just plain rocking out. Eurovision Song Contest is a lot like American Idol, except that the competition is among the European nations--well, 24 of them anyway--and the music is (supposedly) original. What I noticed more than anything is that it all sounded pretty much the same. And almost none of it would I personally listen to at any other time. But it's tradition like watching Donald Duck on Christmas Eve.

But it is schlager. Music snobs cover your ears.

The rundown--yes, I was taking notes:

All but four entries -- Spain, France, Serbia-Montenegro, and (I think) Romania translated their songs into English for the final performance. If Sweden can be representative of this tendency, I would say it would be much better if the songs remained in their native tongues even for the final. In English, that Swedish song was just plain stupid.

A few entries had crazy theatrics. France, by far, had the strangest: a woman on stilts, wearing a really long white dress, doing interpretive (almost robotic) hand and arm gestures. I just didn't get it.

Less than half of the entries were ballads. All but one (Germany) were completely non-descript and boring.

And finally, all but four were totally schlager. It's just a European thing, schlager. I can't explain the fascination. And neither can Europeans, apparently. Because they make fun of themselves for the obsession with Eurovision and even the television hosts laugh (during the broadcast) at the obviously rigged point-distribution system.

About that point-distribution system: at the end of all 24 performances, the phone lines open up for all 36 of the European nations to call in and vote for their favorite performance. The only stipulation? You are not allowed to vote for your own country. The votes go, with near 100% accurate prediction, to each country's neighbors. So Sweden votes for Norway, Norway votes for Sweden, France votes for Spain and Germany and so on. I guess the country with the most neighbors wins.

Oh, and in case you're wondering why I used the word "embarrassing" to describe my watching...

I didn't just watch. I voted.

I couldn't help it. It was like Maktub meets Martin Sexton. It was a group of real musicians and a singer, Max, who had a raw, sexy voice and belted it out like a young Joe Cocker. I voted for Germany. Twice. But that twice deal was by accident, the call confirmation was in Swedish and it went so fast that I thought I was being told I made a dialing error.

At any rate, what do I know? Ukraine won.