All the Roadrunning

Last week I did celebrate the Midsummer Festival, although I must make a few clarifications from my last post. Yes the Swedes danced around a pole, however, I was most pleasantly surprised to discover that it was not actually a burning pole, just a normal, non-burning version. Prior to this discovery, I had spent sleepless nights trying to devise an acceptable excuse for not wanting to don the white robes and hood that I assumed would be handed out before the ceremony began.

And yes, old Croatian folk songs were most definitely sung, just as one would naturally expect at a traditional Swedish festival. But the singing did not take place during the dancing. Instead, several overall-clad Croatian folk stood under the shadows of the historic barn in an almost opening ceremony-like concert, strumming their guitars and mandolins, singing words that nobody in the audience could understand. But everyone was smiling and some were even swaying back and forth, rocking in slow motion to the catchy ditties that their grandparents never sung to them when they were children.

This celebration was unfortunately hampered somewhat by the typical on again off again rainstorms that plagued the afternoon. But overall, Midsummer was a success and the evening´s festivities were more than enjoyable, except for the customary shots of Dill & Cumin-flavored aquavit (local liquor).

A few days later I boarded the bus for the journey to Oslo, Norway. The ride across Sweden took six and a half hours and actually left me in quite a sour mood. I simply could not believe that we arrived into Oslo so late. Lateness never happens here, absolutely never. Or so I thought. We were scheduled to arrive at 3:30pm and I was livid when the bus rolled into the Central Bus Station at 3:36pm. How dare this bus driver ruin my belief that Sweden is the most organized and efficient place on the planet? Could he not have made up the six minutes somewhere en route? It was chaos I tell you. I still get tense when I think about it.

And then a friend of a friend of a friend met me at the station, most generously offering me her hospitality for my 16 hour stay in Norway. After taking me on the whirlwind tour of Oslo, she gave me the keys to her apartment while she and her boyfriend were at work. And so I returned to their comfortable pad to rest and relax before I had to leave for the airport at 4am.

Although, when I opened the door to the apartment, I was greeted by none other than a massive pit bull with a giant blue ball in its mouth. It looked like she was devouring planet earth. I immediately froze and it jumped up and down. I remained frozen and it growled, ran around in circles and proudly displayed its two inch fangs. I tip toed into the apartment, not wanting to disturb the possible family of pit bulls that might be hiding around the corner, ready to pounce and attack.

Well, it turned out that there was only one pit bull. And her name was Sassy. But for the next couple of hours, however, I was forced to sit still on the sofa, very still, while Sassy jumped on my lap, licked my arms and lunged for my face every so often. My constant shaking and sweating were ample displays of fear that this dog luckily did not pick up on.

Instead, Sassy finally tired herself out and fell asleep in the bedroom, allowing me to begin breathing again, although as quietly as possible of course. As time passed, I also eventually abandoned the escape route that I had devised upon hearing the first of Sassy´s numerous growls. And considering that this route had required me to leap off of the fourth floor balcony and onto a wooden children´s playground structure, I was quite relieved.

So, I am happy to report that I have survived all of the brutal risks and terrifying dangers of Scandanavia that were thrown directly in my path. Now I must simply survive my flight home, a journey that certainly cannot be classified as ´short´ nor ´direct´. I will now spend multiple hours not only on three separate flights but in between as well, at the fine airports of Amsterdam and Washington D.C., before arriving back in Florida.

And once I arrive, it will already be time to get organized yet again and prepare for the next journey. I have less than two weeks before I step foot onto the Queen Mary 2 and I must transform myself, both mentally and physically, from a backpacking traveler into an officer on the most luxurious ocean liner in the world. Its not an easy thing to do.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, June 24th, 2008 at 1:47 pm and is filed under Sweden. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.