Vagabonding begins!

Utgang means “exit” in Swedish.

Which is precisely what I plan to do in a matter of hours. I am leaving Stockholm and flying to Stuttgart, Germany on another budget airline. I am a little more prepared for the seating queue this time, I brought elbow pads and a pointy stick.

Sweden has been wonderful, warm and mostly sunny, and easy to navigate. I hate to tell it goodbye, but of course, I have been saying that about every country so far. Last night, there was a special on television about 2 guys hitchiking around Ireland. It wasnt in English, but just seeing the same sights and sounds from Ireland brought tears to my eyes. I feel compelled to go back there one day soon. Maybe next month?

For the last few days, I have just been wandering around Stockholm. Elin had a friend of a friend of a friend that knew where a secretive freemason office was, so we wandered around a very old hotel until we found the door across the street. There was a small plaque telling about how long they had been there (a very long time) and lots of symbols on the door including the famous compass and a Thor’s hammer, which could be controversial. We knocked on the door, and stood to one side (in case they shoot through the door), but no one answered. I am sure we did not know the proper secret knock. I was a little relieved, if someone had answered I had no idea what we were going to say. Im sure since the DaVinci code, maybe they are used to people poking around their clubhouse.

I have learned the secrets to the Stockholm subway system. In the smaller stations, if an attendant is not present, then you can go through the turnstyles for free. When I came into the station this morning (my weekly card is expired), the guy was just arriving as well. We made eye contact and he hastily reached for the counter, where Im sure the magic button was. I hurried my steps and practically dove through the turnstyle as the green light above it turned off. I gave him a grin as I went down the escalator - sure, I had only saved 3 dollars, but every bit counts on this trip!

Speaking of money…being around these countries where coins are important has made me twitchy. Every time I hear a metallic object hit the floor, I find myself resisting the urge to dive on the floor with it and sniff around in case it was a coin. In America, if you loose a coin from your pocket, the most you can be out is .25 cents. Here, it could be up to a 3 dollar loss from a single coin!

I felt a tingle in my spine as I hoisted on my rucksack and headed out the door this morning. No longer aided by the wisdom of locals, I feel a little twist in my stomach every time I set out with my pack on my back and unsure of where I am going. It is an addictive feeling, one that you never get used to, and I never want it to go away. I am not sure what to expect in Germany and am not even sure where I will be staying from one night to the next, but I love it.

The sunshine on my face, the smell of morning, a plane ticket in hand, and the expectations for a new adventure are the best way I can think of to start any day.

I can only imagine the ship-builders faces.

Today, I did my one tourist thing in Sweden and went to the Vasa Museum. I made it about half way to the museum via the subways, but then had to declare my tourist ignorance by asking several people how to get there. I have yet to come across a free map of the city!

The Vasa was a huge warship that sank in 1628 as soon as it was launched. I mean, after years in construction by what was one of the best ship-building countries in the world at the time, it slid down the rails from the shipyard and sank! I’ll bet someone was in some deep Björn Beiss for that one. (björn means bear, I’ll let you figure out the other word) They raised this ship in the early 1960’s and built an impressive museum around it. I was glad that I had coughed up the 12 dollars admission to get inside.

The ship was an awesome sight, one of the largest in the fleet at the time, and was inornately carved from bow to stern with intricate designs and statues. It was designed to put fear in the enemy even before it brought its guns to bear. There were so many cannons which poked out of both sides like a giant pissed off porcupine, I cant imagine being on the receiving end of its firepower. Fortunately for the Polish, whom Sweden was fighting at the time, it sank as soon as it was launched and 50 of the 450 people on board died a surprised death.

The museum had the remains of the sailors on display and by using forensics, told stories about them. Almost a majority had received broken noses, fractured skulls, and broken fingers and arms earlier in their lives before the shipwreck. I guess the 1600s was a rough time to be a sailor in Sandanavia? No doubt, they were tough guys and loved the brawl. They had such cramped, poor, disgusting lives, I think I would have wanted to fight a lot as well. The air inside was kept damp on purpose and the lights were very dim, which made pictures almost impossible. This was to preserve the wood from rotting even more. The place had a unique smell which wasnt really unpleasant, maybe the way a pine forrest smells after a rain.

After the museum, I hiked the 2KM back to the subway and caught a ride to Galma Stan, which is the Olde Towne. There is a lot of viking history here, but unfortunately it is burried under a 1000 shops selling plastic viking helmets with horns to idiot tourists. (When I say idiot tourists, I mean the type that actually stand blocking the doorways of the shops to take pictures of themselves beside the metal wall selling magnetic souveys!) I heard from one of Elin’s friends (who looked like a viking with his beard, 76″ tall frame, and army background) that the place for viking history was Götland, which is pretty far south of here and unfortunately I will probably not make it there. The guy even wore a Thor’s hammer around his neck made from solid silver, but he was so calm and such a nice guy that I didnt see him as the troublemaking type. We hung out at a friends house party over the weekend, where I was received very warmly. Being the only non-Swede at the party, I was a bit of a celebrity with the guys and the girls, and never found myself alone the entire night, despite not knowing anyone. No one gave me crap about George Bush, which was refreshing, and everyone wanted more insight on American culture. I was able to learn a little about Swedish culture and thought from the people at the party, who once again, were all dressed to rival any American house party that I have ever attended.

I leave Stockholm on Wednesday for Germany. I am excited about the move, sometimes 10 days in one place is too long for my vagabonding feet to stay planted, but I have thoroughly enjoyed Sweden and would love to come back.

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