Operation Aurora - The Weird Night

The ferry from Helsinki to Stockholm was not quite what I was expecting on so many levels. I made pretty good time Jyväskylä to Helsinki and had a couple hours to kill, but not enough to really do much in Helsinki so I just hung out at the terminal's coffee shop until it was time to load the car into the ferry.

Once on board I realized it was much less of a typical ferry and more of a small cruise ship. The main promenade deck had several shops touting tax free fashion, electronics, and souvenirs. The main shopping attraction was a large duty free "superstore" full of liquor, tobacco stuffs, and perfume. Aside from the shopping there were also a small variety of restaurants (a fine dining place, a sushi spot, some cafeteria fare, a buffet, and a few others), a small casino, a pub, a night club, and a discotheque(a very European thing to have). The cabins on the upper decks were like more compact versions of cruise ship cabins with views that either overlooked the promenade or had ocean views. The cabins in the steerage where I was sleeping ranged from tiny to fucking tiny---mine was fucking tiny. Possibly the smallest room I've slept in. Being down at the bottom of the ship it also got the full motion of the Baltic Sea between Finland and Sweden, and the full sound of metal creaking and waves slapping the hull. I could already tell I wasn't going to get much sleep. It was small, too warm, and had no wifi so I ventured out to the promenade.

The night started pretty simple. I had dinner at the fine dining restaurant where I had a pretty good dinner of seafood, beetroots, and a very small but tasty desert. I was going to try and get some photos uploaded (the upper decks had wifi) and have a beer or two in the little pub. I got very little work done when I realized that my steerage ticket only got me access to slow, to the point of being useless, throttled wifi with a relatively small data limit. At one point I made some sort of impatient gesture when pictures kept failing to upload and this guy at a table across from me made a comment. We shouted back and forth for a minute before he slid over to my table and introduced himself a Pedro.

Pedro was born in Colombia but adopted at a very young age into a Swedish family and grew up in Stockholm. He seemed to have an eccentric personality and a bit of a bohemian lifestyle---kinda drifting from one job to another until he got bored or he got fired. He had a few stories about being in the wrong place at the wrong time and spending a night here or there in jail or getting stuck in Hungary without a passport and having a hard time getting back to Sweden. He described himself as a "rock and roller" and had the personality and dress to go with it. He was very high energy and fed off of social interactions.

Pedro disappeared for a little while and I tried futilely to get some work done with my pictures. He finally came back and we resumed talking about life and enjoying a pretty decent British guy playing pop rock songs on his acoustic guitar. Pedro's personality ended up pulling in another solo traveler, Niina, and once the singer---Grant, I believe---finished his last set he ended up gravitating to the table as well. It became an international court of contrast and comparisons---of life, politics, why Americans like guns so much, and everything between. Grant was from Birmingham, Niina was from near Lahti, Finland but had lived in Stockholm for the last 20 years, me the American, and Pedro the born Colombian but raised Swede. Eventually the pub was closing down and we were all going to relocate to the dance club on the other end of the ship. In the process we lost Grant, he was taking his gear back to his room and never resurface, but Pedro and Niina ended up making it there with me.

The dance club had a small dance floor about the size of the average living room and there was a band that played a lot of soul, r&b, and standards. It was headlined by an African who spoke English with what sounded to me like a Johannesburg accent. You could tell by the way he schmoozed and interacted with the audience he had played many cruises, but they were pretty good nonetheless. Pedro, the flamboyant social butterfly, couldn't resist the call of the dance floor and kept disappearing to dance his awkward dance with a variety of older women. That left Niina and I to talk on and off for several hours. I learned that she was a drug rehab nurse, her husband was ex-Russian military and a former Tae Kwan Do champion and his photo intimidated the hell out of me (and I never felt it was a ruse to make sure I didn't hit on Niina). She grew up in what seemed like a very traditional Finnish family but moved to Stockholm because the work opportunities were better, much to the annoyance of her mother. He father had passed away sometime in the last 10 years and her mothers health was up and down (this was the reason she had been in Finland).

Me and Niina got along great, and even though my Swedish was nonexistent and her English was heavily accented and she sometimes searched for words she was always willing to answer any kind of questions I had about Swedish or Finnish life. During the few hours that we were at the night club, Pedro would drift in and out of conversation as his social energy waxed and waned, but over time it seemed like he was getting jealous that me and Niina had connected better than me and him. He was getting a little dramatic at times, making odd comments like "You know Adam, you are very beautiful for an American." I would smile and say thanks, but never indulge in his attempts to get me out to dance. As the night went along, he was dancing with more men (all about my build and age) and less of the older women. Niina and I had long since come to the conclusion that Pedro wasn't just flamboyant, he was gay or bisexual. It didn't really matter so we didn't pay much attention to it beyond the awkward comments.

It was getting pretty late, around 2am by this point, and the dance floor was starting to get desolate. The energetic, crowd-pleasing band had given way to a weird 80s costumed band that played mostly 70s songs, including a selection of Swedish songs. With the crowd thinned out, Pedro was at our table more and his energy was getting less and less. Niina had mentioned she thought he was on more than just a social high, but I had brushed it off as just Pedro's...Pedro-ness. He disappeared to the bathroom for a few minutes and Niina said she bet he comes back a brand new man. And boom...the upbeat Pedro was indeed back. Niina just gave me a knowing, I told you so smile and all I could do was nod. At one point I needed to use the bathroom and had no idea where it was, so I asked Niina if she knew. She said she was going out to smoke so she'd show me. Pedro must have sensed we were leaving because he suddenly popped up and raised his eyebrows suggestively, asking where we were off to. When I told him he made a kind of smirk like he didn't really believe me, but shrugged. A few minutes later I was back, and then Niina was. Pedro again looked at me like he was slightly disappointed. It was also about this time that the night club was shutting down and we were told the discotheque stayed open until 6am, so we made for the next change of scenery.

On our way out of the night club, we came across a bald, broad-shouldered guy with a long goatee that was very drunk and had managed to fall out of his chair. The South African singer from the band was helping him up and Pedro suddenly became interested in the drunk man and we lost him on the way to the all-night dance party. But it wasn't really all night, and after about 30 minutes of obnoxiously loud euro-dance beats that club too was closing. The only thing left open at 4am was the small restaurant that served cafeteria style food. Both Niina and I were hungry so we ended up getting some shitty convection oven pizza and sat down as the night was finally starting to wind down. Only it wasn't quite ready to end, it seemed.

While we were in line for food Pedro popped back up, disappeared, and then popped back up again once we were sitting and eating our shitty pizza (Niina actually liked it, but considering the options for take-out in Sweden I can't really say I'm surprised). At this point Pedro was a little...abrasive. He was now obviously annoyed that he wasn't the center of attention and kept getting louder and more dramatic. Suddenly the conversation shifts solely between Pedro and Niina and they are talking exclusive in Swedish (something that rarely happened the whole night, solely out of courtesy to me). Niina was calm but stern, while Pedro was getting agitated and mock-offended. They kept gesturing to me, making me more uncomfortable than Pedro's harmless attempts to hit on me, and then Niina was grabbing her purse and leaving. I was trying to find out what was happened and all she said was that she was getting security. I looked to Pedro and in a very dramatic, Latin soap opera fashion he explained "I have nothing to hide." I kept asking what they had been arguing about, but all it came back to was that he had nothing to hide.

A few minutes later Niina was back, and then a few more minutes later two ship's security were there. They first talked to Niina, in Swedish, and then talked to Pedro, all while we were sitting at the table. Then they asked Pedro to come with them while they talked some more. Niina went right back to eating her pizza, not the least bit fazed by events. When I asked her what all that was about, she shrugged and said he was on drugs. I had a feeling it was more than that, and it had more to do with me than either of them were letting on. I have a feeling she was trying to protect me in the same way a sibling protects their younger, obviously more naive sibling. But it still wasn't over.

After 10 or so minutes Pedro was back and standing next to the table. He was again claiming he had nothing to hide, adding that he was clean, and that he had much respect for me and for women. I told Pedro it was probably time to call it a night. He dramatically acted offended and stomped off, only to stomp back up at the other side of the table. This went round and round for a few minutes before I told him to just go. The night was over and he should quit while he's ahead. I thought he was about to walk off when instead he sat down at the table behind us where two older women who were completely uninvolved in any of the night's events were sitting and Pedro began to profess to them that he was a good person, he was clean, and he had nothing to hide. At this point I'd had enough and I got up and told Pedro to leave the women alone---they had no idea who he was or what he was talking about so just leave them be. He stood up and puffed out his chest, not in a threatening way but in a mix of defensive and peacockish showboating. He was getting louder and louder, telling everyone he was an open book, he was clean, he had nothing to hide.

I was done being diplomatic and finally grabbed him by the arm and told him if he wouldn't leave then I would take him back to his room. His eyes grew big momentarily and then he gave me a look I can only describe as sort of seductive.

In a melodramatic voice he asked "Are you sure, Adam? Do not tease me."

He was choosing to take things the wrong way.

"No, no, no, Pedro. Not like that," I said, more defensively than I had intended.

He gave me a hurt look and then his eyes brightened and he said, "But it could be."

"Listen Pedro. Me and you are not having sex. We aren't fucking. We aren't getting it on. Our dicks are never going to be any closer to each other than they are now. You can be gracious and let me escort you to your room, or we can get security to do it."

"You do not talking to me in such a crude manner," he said, again being theatrical.

"Fine, security it is," and I walked over to the front desk where Niina had gone earlier. I told the lady there was a guy that had probably had a little too much to drink and needed an escort to his room.

"You mean that guy behind you?" she asked, and I turned to see Pedro pouting, lips pooched out like a child.

"Yeah, that guy."

The lady asked if it was the same guy that had been a problem earlier and I said yes, so she get on the phone and called security. Pedro vanished. I didn't actually see or hear him leave...he just disappeared.

After I sat back down with Niina we both agreed we were pretty much done for the night. It was after 4am and breakfast was early and we would be in Stockholm shortly after 9. I told Niina I would be more comfortable if she let me walk her to her room and she was fine with that, but needed to smoke first. We made our way down the promenade to one of the doors to the outer decks. Niina was already outside and Pedro popped up from the stairs nearby. He pointed an accusing finger out the door to Niina, who just rolled her eyes, and said "It is because of that girl, isn't it."

"Dude, she's married to a terrifying looking Russian dude. None of us are getting laid tonight."

"But you could."

"Fuck off, Pedro," I said as I went outside with Niina.

Pedro dramatically walked off up the stairs, but a minute later came back down, and then went down another floor. He kept popping up and down the decks, and I kept catching him glancing at us from a distance, through the rails of the stairs, and then disappearing when he saw that I could see him. He popped up at the door and opened it, but I had my foot in the way so he could only open it so far.

"You will never have another friend like me" he said, and slammed the door, only to open it again. "You will never have another friend like me!"

Then he was gone.

I joked with Niina about being cursed by a Colombian as she finished her cigarette, saying she knew how to get rid of cursed, and then I walked her to her room. I was constantly looking around for Pedro as we made our way to on one of the upper decks and agreed to meet her for breakfast before telling her goodnight. I made my way back to my room, but I was still feeling paranoid so I took a long, complicated route using both stairs and elevators. When I got to my floor, a maze of narrow hallways with short dead-ends that branched off every 10 or 15 feet, I peeked around every corner before committing to my move. I had a vision of a little, flamboyant Colombian man with a rag soaked in chloroform and was not going to end up a Lifetime movie. Even though I never saw him on my way to my room, I kept feeling like I was being watched, but finally I got there (and checked the bathroom and the shower just in case) and locked the door and the night behind me.

The next morning, aka 3 hours later, I woke and met Niina for breakfast. Finland is an hour ahead of Sweden, so when we left all the boat's events were in Finnish time, but somewhere around 4am when we briefly docked at the small island of Mariehamn the boat switched over to Swedish time. As a result I screwed up and set my alarm an hour early than I needed, and then she was 30 minutes late so I waited a while. We both knew this was the end of our brief friendship so it was mostly small talk and laughing about the Pedro bullshit of the night before. I had intended to exchange emails or something to keep in touch, but while she was getting a refill of coffee I realized we were pulling into the Stockholm terminal and I still needed to pack. Just then they announced our arrival and stated that the doors for unloading vehicles would be open in 10 minutes and I was 2nd in line and didn't want to be the reason nobody could leave so I hunted her down and rushed an awkward goodbye and ran off to stuff all my crap in my bag. I got into my car just as the car in front of me was pulling away, the guy behind me shaking his head at his near-inconvenience, and pulled out of the ferry and away from Pedro and Niina.

From the ferry I drove straight to the airport where I dropped off my rental car, killed a few hours, and began the long flight home. I arrived in Ft. Lauderdale around 9pm and spent the night in a cheap motel nearby since my connecting flight wasn't until 9am. Then I took the short flight to Atlanta, and my friend picked me up and I was home. Operation Aurora, although a success, was sadly over. I have some thoughts and pictures and lessons learned to think about and will post those in a few days. But other than that, another vacation is in the books.

Operation Aurora - The Long Night

When I woke up Lødingen there was a fresh blanket of snow on the ground and it was still lightly falling from dull, gray skies. My clear skies of the night before were gone and I had a sneaking feeling it wasn't just in Lødingen. Looking at the weather online showed that it wasn't totally cloudy in Tromso just yet, but radar and forecasts told me it was coming. I was still a few hours away and it would likely be there when I was and would be staying for a few days. I was disappointed, but I had already done what I'd set out to do---I'd seen the aurora and I hadn't needed to drive all the way to Tromso.

Looking at the map and the time I had left I was pretty sure I could make it to Helsinki with a little time to wander around before catching an overnight ferry to Stockholm. I could just go straight back to Stockholm and chill out for a day, but I had hoped to at least catch a glimpse of Finland on my trip. After a little it of hemming and hawing I was set for Helsinki. It would be about 14 hours of driving after having just finished roughly 20 hours, but hopefully worth it. The trip would have me driving along the northern parts of Norway and Sweden into central Finland. It was easily the shortest day I'd had since getting here, making it the longest night in so many ways.

Turning inland from the fjords of the coast meant the roads were less winding and slightly wider most of the way, but it also brought colder weather. I drove across roads of solid ice, but packed hard with snow so they were actually easier to drive on than any of the winters roads before. The idea of driving 80mph on these roads was mind numbing, but if I didn't I'd have been flattened by the giant trucks with massive headlights (Scandinavians are all about being able to see). There were times when I was ahead of the clouds coming in. At one point I could see the moon about to rise over the mountains and wanted to take a picture. I had been standing out in the 10F cold waiting for it to crest the peak only to be thwarted by an incoming cloud. The coldest I knew for certain it got during the drive was just a few degrees above 0---the coldest I've ever personally experienced. It is, to put it mildly, really fucking cold.

The hours dragged on and the clouds finally won out over the skies, dashing any little hope I'd had for chancing a last glimpse of aurora before getting too far south. The cloud cover erased all signs of the beautiful world were just outside the ring of my headlights (which sucked, even without comparing them to the massive headlights mounted on the front or tops of just about everyone else's car). At that point it became just another blitzkrieg of a drive hardly worth noting...if it weren't for the fact that it just wouldn't end.

I drove until around 10pm or so before I started looking for a place to stop. Whether it was luck or just a difference in the region, I couldn't find a damn thing that was open by the time I'd gotten into Finland. What wasn't closed for the winter season didn't seem to stay open past 9pm, and many were much earlier than that. I would see signs for lodging only to find time after time they were closed. A few had signs with numbers you could call after hours, but with no cell service I never got to test just how late they were willing to accommodate. I finally came across a small city, called Oulu, that seemed to have a very active Saturday nightlife, but the only hotels I could find that were nearly full and wanted far too much for the priciest rooms.

I drove on for another half hour or so and gave in and tried to catch and hour or two of rest at a 24 hour gas station but I couldn't relax or get comfortable enough. I gave up on giving up and drove on, trying again and again only to find places closed. I reached a point where I was afraid to go on. Concentrating on driving was getting difficult and I was getting a headache from squinting. At another gas station I managed to fall asleep for a little over an hour. I don't know what woke up, but it woke me with a start and I was confused and disoriented. Long hours, short days, and sleep deprivation had gotten to me and I had a mild panic attack. It took me a few minutes to calm down and remember where I was and realize that nothing was wrong, but sleep was over.

I drove on until dawn when I came across the biggest city I've ran across in Finland so far, Jyväskylä. I found my old friend, the McDonalds, and hopped on their wifi to find some place to stay. The first two hotels that popped up were reasonably priced in the city center. I figured they would be easy to get to and headed into the city center. I found both of them with no problem as they were practically across the street from one another. What I couldn't find was a place to park. I drove round and round the confusing blocks, finding myself on roads that randomly ended in pedestrian streets. I could find the parking garage for one of the hotels but no way in and nowhere to park to get registered. The other hotel I couldn't even find the garage despite the signs pointing to it. I couldn't even see where to enter the hotel even if I knew what I was doing. I'd like to blame it on sleep deprivation, but I fear I'm just not smart enough for Finland. I ended up back at McDonald's and on their wifi until I found a decent place that wasn't in the city center and could see the parking lot in the pictures. Finally, after nearly 24 hours on the road I found a place to sleep. The long night was over.

Despite how tired I was I only slept 5 or 6 hours. I laid there debating what to do next. Roll over and sleep more, get up and finish the drive to Helsinki, or find food and just spend the whole night here in Jyväskylä. I once again consulted the weather and found that it was raining in Helsinki, and the more I thought it about it the less keen I was on hopping back into the car even if it was only 3 or 4 hours. So I've decided to stay the night where I am---after all I do have the room for the night. I'll head into Helsinki tomorrow with a couple hours before I have to be at the terminal for the overnight entry to Stockholm. Not how I wanted to end the vacation, but I thought it was better than forcing something I wasn't really feeling.

Operation Aurora - Circles and Ribbons

The road to Tromsø is a long one, especially since I chose to take the more scenic route up the Norwegian coast instead of back into Sweden and then north. When either route is over 20 hours, a couple extra hours seems inconsequential. The part that is of consequence is how narrow and twisting the roads are, and how the road conditions vary from clear, to slushy, to covered in ice. I don't know where jurisdiction for maintaining the roads lay---in the towns, the states, or the country itself---but regardless of who is responsible they do a surprising job of sanding and plowing and keeping the drifts from enveloping the roads. I can't imagine the veritable army that the Scandinavian countries employ in keeping the major roads open for as long as possible. That said, I'm just an American from the part of the country that shuts down with a reasonable threat of snow and this is a part of the world where they don't feel like winter has really started yet. To quote one hotel reception receptionist, "You've caught us at a bad time. It's the dark days, but no snow." He's saying this as snow is falling and plows are going by.

Despite the short days, it's absolutely beautiful country while you can see it. The roads hug the jagged fjords as they jiggle back and forth like they were drawn by a nervous cartographer. Vast planes of snow, narrow bays and rivers of ice, sharp explosions of black rock tempered by white snow---it's a photographers dream. Except the roads have little to no places to pull off and allow me to be a gawking tourist. There are pull-offs and parking spots to allow backed up traffic to pass if you're going slow or need a break, but they're few, far between, and in the least opportune places for gawking. Most of the time there is no shoulder on the road, making parking and walking back to a viewpoint rather dangerous. The memories will have to serve for the most part, and after all that's what vacations are really about anyway.

This far north the sun rises late and stays low in the sky and sets early. It gets mostly dark quick, but then takes hours to get full dark. But once it does, it's an all encompassing darkness if it's cloudy. You can see bits of civilization far into the distance as it casts a soft glow in the low clouds above, but in between it's dark---fucking dark. But when the clouds part and you get a glimpse of the naked night sky it's breathtaking. Stars shine with an intensity that acts as a dull night light and clusters of stars I've never seen are bright and clear. The moon rises early and gets higher in the sky than the sun, but not my much. In contrast to the darkness it's a blazing light that casts a soft light, creating soft shadows even when it's not quite in its first quarter. It's a good thing that is its own kind of beauty, because most of the day is spent at night, as dumb as that sounds. At one point the sun didn't break over the horizon until just after 11 and it was back down before 1. Not counting the long tail of dawn and dusk light, the entirety of the day was less than 2 hours.

My first night heading north was in a small town called Grong, where it was a windy but balmy 40ish degrees. When I woke up it was below freezing, setting the stage for a colder, more winters day of driving. As I got further north the roads were more frequently icy than not, which I honestly preferred to the mixed and patchy roads because I didn't have to wonder what I was driving on at any given moment. Not to sound bored, but it was just hours and hours of absolutely beautiful, rugged countryside. About 3 hours into the drive I passed a massive sign that spanned the road declaring I had entered Nord Norge, or Northern Norway. It was presented as if I had just entered some grand kingdom or a winter-themed amusement park. Maybe in a month or two when the real snow sets in and the skiing lodges open it is exactly like an amusement park. About an hour after entering Nord Norge I crossed the Arctic Circle.

This was significant for two reasons. One, I've just always wanted to be able to say I've been north of the circle. And two, even though Tromsø was the goal I considered anything above the circle prime aurora viewing area. As a result, the moment darkness engulfed the land and I saw a clear blanket of stars above, I started looking for signs of activity in the sky. Hours went by, but finally around 10pm, about an hour south of Bognes I saw something. It started as a pale, sickly gray glow that looked at first like a long stands of odd clouds catching some unseen light. A little more time went by and the glow became more green than gray, and the strands become a little more cohesive and wild. Splitting into a series of greenish veins and then merging or separating even more the next time I looked up. I was craning my head as I drove, trying not to crash, and smiling like a kid.

By the time I reached Bognes the strands were vibrant, but not quite neon, the moved visibly in the few seconds I had to look up. There hadn't been a good place to stop for a solid hour until I reached the ferry at Bognes. I arrived just as the 2nd to last ferry for the night was loading and immediately pulled in. The moment we pulled away from he bright lights of the ferry terminal I was on deck, completely alone. Above me ribbons of color were swirling, warping, wavering---some lazily, some frantically. There were a lot of lights on the deck, but I noticed a set of staff stairs up to another deck and hopped over the gate. It turned out it led to another deck, that after hopping another gate was totally publicly accessible, rendering my little rebellion pointless. Again I was alone, but it was away from all the lights and above me the aurora were dancing. The brightest ribbons were a rich, but slightly ethereal green. Others were ghostly and weak. Directly above me was a tangled knot of green ribbons with tinges of yellow at the edges that were swirling around violently. Occasionally a ribbon would break and bright pinks and and hints of blues would leak from them.

I stood out on the deck for about half an hour watching giddily as the winds rose and the temperatures dropped. It reached a point where the wind was blowing so hard I could barely stand and the few bits of my face exposed to the elements were sore and I could barely keep my eyes open. Eventually I had to admit defeat. I had stuff better suited for the elements in my car, but they locked access to the vehicle deck until just before we reach shore again. When I drove off the ferry in Lødingen it was almost midnight, I was tired, and there was a small hotel less than a kilometer from the terminal. My viewing had ended sooner than I had wanted, but already I was beyond happy and I slept the kind of sleep only fools and children do.

Operation Aurora - Juxtapositions Part II

I had only been on the road for about 20 minutes after leaving the Car Cemetery before hitting the Norwegian border. It was a pretty simple affair, though being a tourist in November seemed to single me out for a few extra questions. The agent had me pull over to the side, and I was expecting to have him go through my stuff like the guy parked next to me. Instead he asked me a few questions about my trip, how long I had been where, and then suddenly asked me if I smoked weed. It was clearly meant to be a Gotcha! question, and I seemed to pass cause he smiled and just waved me on. It seemed odd after the "Canadian marijuana" conversation outside the Mastodon show and makes me wonder about any other hidden American stereotypes. I blame Colorado.

Crossing into Norway it was almost immediately obvious they had gotten more snow than Sweden, but the roads were well enough traveled that it wasn't an issue. It also seemed that Norway liked building tunnels more as well. A dozen or so tunnels later and I was on the outskirts of Oslo, where there were even more, longer tunnels. I'd only run into the issue once while in Stockholm, but my phone doesn't even try to act like it knows where I'm going once it gets into a tunnel. This wouldn't be too much of a problem if it weren't for the fact that there are several exits and branches inside the tunnels and traffic circles immediately upon exiting tunnels. As a result I took a slightly more scenic route to my accommodations for the night, a hostel just outside the downtown area.

About an hour after leaving the Car Cemetery my wrist was at peak "ouch" and I was driving one-handed (it's my left wrist and I'm left handed). By the time I got settled in my room I wasn't really in much of a mood for exploring. The only thing that finally got me out of my room was my growing hunger. I mentioned this in the first part, but I've been eating more McDonald's meals than I care to admit. While in Stockholm I came to the realization that Swedes don't really seem to eat out much. They mostly eat out for lunch, and it's mostly shit food. Aside from the ubiquitous McDonalds and a handful of Burger Kings (the fast food, not the boat) there were also tons of little grills and kebab shops situated at busy intersections, near metro stations, outside every shopping center---just everywhere. They aren't little carts on wheels or food trucks like you might see in major American cities, but small four-walled brick shops---they have permanence. They are, relatively speaking, cheap places to eat in a city of expensive food. The few places of quality I found in looking around seemed geared more toward special occasions or tourists. I did come across a fantastic vegetarian restaurant at the top of my 144 stairs in Stockholm, but I didn't find it until the end of my stay and never found time to get back there.

Instead of ruining all the hard work I've done over the last 7 months of losing a not-insignificant amount of wait, I decided when I got to Oslo that I would start stocking up on things I could keep in my room, and keep cold on my window sill, from local grocery stores. Much like Stockholm, Oslo has little grocery stores all over the place. Indoor shopping centers almost always have one or more that usually have some kind of options or fresh takeaway food as well. Being on the outskirts of the downtown area there aren't any of those shopping centers near the hostel, but there was a small discount grocery store (think Aldis) that had a surprisingly  good selection of baked goods and even more surprisingly good quality sushi (I have no idea where it's prepared, but it said it was that day and it was better than any grocery store sushi I've had before). It wasn't boldly exploring the heart of a new city, but there is something decidedly adventurous about grocery shopping in another country. You get to see what foods and items people at home value and prefer. The wide variety of fish wasn't surprisingly, but the variations of salt and salmon, or salt and cod tell you a lot. The surprise in people's voices at an English speaker in the grocery store, where there was never a sound of surprise out in the city or even on the road, was telling as well. I wasn't exactly a trailblazer, but I was definitely taking the road less traveled.

The next morning I woke up to a light but steady snow that got heavier as the day went by and didn't relent until well after dark. I took my time at breakfast, trying out a small selection of brined cod in various sauces (I identified a sweet mustard one and a tomato-based one, the other I don't have a clue) and cod and peppercorns in brine alone. I killed some more time in the common room of the hostel working on the pictures from the previous day. Finally I had to decide whether I was going to completely squander my time in Oslo or deal with the snow and head out. I went with venturing out, though I cheated and took the car downtown instead of trudging down the street trying to find Oslo's metro (the T-bane here). I parked out of the way so that I could walk a big loop around the city center. I was immediately solicited by a prostitute, though I didn't realize she was a prostitute until I came back later that evening and two women who were most definitely prostitutes were in the same spot offering "suck suck."

It was much colder than my days in Stockholm, being somewhere around 24 or 25F, and although the snow wasn't as tiny and sharp, it was windy and constantly blowing in my face. I didn't make it far before holing up in a coffee shop with a good view of Karl Johan gate, the main shopping district of Oslo. The streets weren't as busy as Stockholm, and there weren't quite as many people on bicycles, but I don't know if it was the weather or if Oslo isn't quite as gung-ho as Stockholm is when it comes to walking and riding all over the goddamn place. I eventually left the warm safety of the coffee shop and went around the corner where I was first drawn by a large ferries wheel into what turned out to be a large Christmas market. It was full of seasonal foods and vendors selling delicious smelling meats and sausages cooked over large grills or open fires. There were stalls selling a variety of handmade cold weather items, a few selling what were apparently high-end Norwegian brands of gloves, sweaters, and hats that seemed to be of questionable provenance. Considering a pair of lamb skin gloves at the Fjallraven store (a very popular Swedish brand of outdoor gear, even in the US) was over $100, the dubious gloves at something over $40 weren't bad regardless of where they came from.

Random ambling and the sound of bells led me to the Rådhus, Oslo's blocky, Functionalist style city hall. I thought I was heading toward the domekirke, the Oslo Cathedral, which is the flagship of the Church of Norway. Instead of was greeted by a massive, rectangular facade of large bricks, with a minimalist bell tower, some burtalists looking sculptures, and then a giant ornate-by-comparison astronomical clock. Wrapped around it like curved arms in the style of the square in front of St. Peter's Basilica are two open-air galleries with sculptures carved in wood depicting several scenes from Norse mythology. Had it not been 10 minutes before closing I would've gone in and explored some, but timing was not on my side. After wandering about the Rådhus some I walked around and finally saw my first glimpse of the waterfront as the last bit of the day's hazy light disappeared. An old fort protects one side of the harbor while mid-century buildings and new construction sit on the other. But the cold was getting to me, the snow whipping harder, and it seemed like most things were closing up for the day so I meanderingly made my way back to the underground parking garage where I met the Suck Suck Girls, politely declined their services, and spent an hour trying to make the 15 minutes drive back to the hostel.

I was returning in what I assume was rush hour traffic, the snow was starting to win out over the plows and sanding, the tunnels were totally fucking with my phone. I got within a kilometer of the hostel only to be thwarted by a steep, ice coated hill that I was doing a surprisingly good job of climbing until a bus slowly started to spin counter-clockwise, Google Maps did not like my failure to follow directions and sent me in a series of circles, repeatedly trying to make me go up that damn hill, before I started making executive decisions based on my limited knowledge of the area and finally made it home where I enjoyed another trip to the grocery store.

I woke up today to find the snow having changed over to rain and I immediately slipped and face planted into the ice. My only saving grace was that I had both arms full of crap so I couldn't instinctively screw up my wrist any more. The ridiculously slippery parking lot, the wind and rain, and the creeping feeling that I'm running out of time and opportunity to get north and catch the Aurora only solidified my decision not to spend extra time in Oslo. In just a few minutes I will hop back into my car and head north. It will probably take me two days to get to Tromso, leaving me very little time to get lucky.

Operation Aurora - Juxtapositions Part I

Getting out of Stockholm was a lot easier than getting in. I was sad to leave, as I'd come to enjoy my time there, which is a good thing since I ended up spending a couple days more than I had first planned---the timing of the Mastodon concert threw things off a little. Regardless, it was time to move on so I did. The snow of the day before had put a nice, light blanket of white across the countryside. The road wound around low hills and cut through some of the bigger ones. It actually reminded me a lot of driving through areas of Kentucky. The foreign road signs and lengthy place names full of umlauts and overrings dispells that illusion pretty quickly.

The drive from Stockholm to Oslo is only about six hours, a relatively short drive compared to several of my roadtrips, but I quit for the day in the small town or Årjäng, Sweden. Just outside of Årjäng, in the tiny community of Båstnäs, is the Båstnässkroten---it literally means the Båstnäs junkyard, but it's more commonly referred to in English as the Båstnäs Car Cemetery. Directions to this place absolutely suck. Most sources give an address that's about 10 or more kilometers off. I spent nearly an hour driving back and forth across the same three roads trying to find this place. I decided to venture down the main road until me and a logging truck slid to a halt as we nearly became one. I gave up and stewed over my failure while eating yet another McDonalds meal (notice I haven't been talking much about food this trip? Yeah, there's a reason.) I took advantage of the free wifi while eating my sad Quarter Pounder (A QP with cheese, though the boxes clearly say Quarter Pounder) and found that Google Earth had a different address, and called it Ivan's Junk Yard (Ivan and his brother supposedly own the place) and decided to give it one more try. I went down the same road, passed the skid marks from where I nearly became one with the trees, and about 4 kilometers further I saw the first definitive signs of the dead.

Across several acres of densely wooded Swedish countryside are the final resting places for hundreds, if not thousands, of old Scandinavian cars from the 40s, 50s, and 60s. There are two common stories for the origins of these cars. The most popular is that Båstnäs was the resting place of car from US soldiers leaving Europe after World War II. There are several problem with this story, mainly that Sweden did not have a US base or contingency of US soldiers at the time and Sweden is a stupid place for everyone to leave Europe. The other story is the cars were cast aside when the country switched from driving on the left side of the road to driving on the right. This has its own issues as many of the cars, including some of the oldest, are correctly configured for driving on the right. At the time of the change, in 1967, 90% of Swedish drivers already drove vehicles with steering wheels on the left. Why, I'm not entirely sure, though Norway and Finland already drove on the right so that may have something to do with it.

Regardless of the reason, the forest and a large, open field are full of classic cars rotting and rusting away and slowly being reclaimed and overgrown by nature. Some are stacked three high in rows creating industrial walls, some are thrown in piles haphazardly, some have fallen into small recesses of water, currently frozen and dusted with snow. Some have trees and shrubs growing through them, many have thick, lush carpets of moss or are covered with liken like forest barnacles. I've  seen pictures of the car cemetery in the summer and it's a seemingly benign, almost pleasant juxtaposition of nature and mechanics. In the winter, with a coat of snow and long shadows from the low sun it becomes somber, gothic, even melancholy. Ever since I was a kid I would see faces in the fronts and backs of cars. Tail lights making the eyes while grills and bumpers make mouths. These rotting, rusting vehicles often had ghastly faces. Some resembling metal skulls seemingly shocked to find themselves dead, some even managing to look grotesque with headlights hanging out like dangling eyeballs and grills that looked like pained grins. I found it all oddly beautiful and spent well over an hour walking through the frozen forest. I likely would have spent longer had I not slipped while trying to climb down a large, snow covered rock and landed on my wrist trying to break my fall. I continued on for another 10 or 15 minutes before it became painful just to hold the camera or try to navigate around the stacks of cars. Finally I called it quits, packed some snow in a plastic bag that I wrapped around my wrist, and cussed continually for about two hours as I made my way to Oslo. (Continued in Part II)

Operation Aurora - Weathering the Weather

My last two days in Stockholm were marked by weather unbecoming of a vacation destination. First it was rain and wind, and then it was cold as hell, windy, and snowing sporadically. The rain alone wasn't bad, but the wind kept blowing it into my face so I kept retreating into places to sit out the worst of it. The result was sitting in one of the shopping malls people watching and eating lunch at McDonalds (which are all over the place) and then ducking into the Historiska Museet, the Swedish History Museum when the hold on my coat decided to stop being a hood. My destination had been the Vasamuseet , but free admission and being there when I needed a place to dry off solidified the detour.

I didn't go through the whole museum because I still had aspirations of reaching my initial destination, but I did find the history musuem quite interesting. Amongst other exhibits chronicaling the history of Sweden is an extensive one on Swedish Vikings. A trove of artifacts and information make it worth a visit on it's own. But once I was dried and warmed up I headed back out, and continued on my way to the Vasa Musuem. A coffee detour later I arrived.

The Vasa was a 64 gun ship intended to be the flagship of Sweden's navy and a show of force in their war with Poland. The ship set sail on its maiden voyage in 1628 and sank a few minutes later in the middle of the harbor after encountering a minor squall. The ship was built to specifications of the king by a private group and as such its hull was too shallow, it's ballast too light, and was known to be unstable yet ordered to set sail by the king regardless. It would sit on the ocean floor sinking into the mud for 333 years before being resurrected largely intact in a complicated salvage and preservation operation that began in the late 50s and is technically still on-going (the ship is actually still drying and requires constant upkeep).

The Vasa Museum is a one trick pony and knows it. But as far as ponies go, it's a pretty badass pony. Where most single-subject museums tease and tempt you deeper into the building before unveiling its prized possession, usually to disappointment, the forgoes the cocktease and shows it all up front. Once you buy your ticket and enter the museum proper you are immediately confronted with the fully resurrected ship in all it's glory. The weathered but reconstructed ship sits front and center, it's bowsprit juts out toward you, its masts towering over you at full height. You can hardly go anywhere in the museum without the imposing ship sitting there in its dark, brooding glory staring you down. The museum it a wide open building with levels up and down from ground level to allow you to view the ship from every angle but on-board. Around the outside edges are exhibits about the ship's history, the recovery efforts, the on-going preservation, and skeletons and accoutrements of several of  those who died when it's capsized. It's quite possibly the most impressive museum I've ever been to. It may not be able to compete with the sheer wealth of artifacts and exhibits something like Smithsonian or Louvre does, but it more than makes up for it with presentation. Visiting the Vasa was pretty much the only thing I accomplished that day and I was fine with that.

The next day I woke up to bitter cold, sharp wind, and tiny flakes of snow that whipped at my face and occasionally blinded me. It wasn't anything close to a white out, but it made walking around town very uncomfortable. So much so that I actually left the Burger King, realized I was vastly under-dressed for the day, and had to make another go at it. There was only one thing I planned on doing that day, and it wasn't until later that evening. With no real goal in mind, I wandered a part of the city I hadn't gone to yet and stumbled onto a great view of Stockholm at the city's natural high point known as Skinnarviksberget. If I thought it was cold at sea level, it was fucking cold and the wind was painful at 53 meters above sea level. After about 10 minutes of enjoying the view I was frozen and set out to find a coffee shop and kill a couple hours.

Finally it was time to head to the whole point of the day, a heavy metal concert at a formerly brewery where the bands Mastodon, Red Fang, and Russian Circles were playing. I arrived a little earlier than I intended, for no reason other than I got antsy and left the coffee shop too soon. As a result I ended up standing outside the venue for a little over an hour, accidentally broke in line (I mean, the head of the line...not just stumbled somewhere mid-line), and was shivering and my teeth were chattering by the time we were let in. The guy who was actually first in line was really cool about it and instead of rightfully sending me to the back he just decided to start talking to me about music and Canadian marijuana. The concert was great. I've been a fan of Mastodon and Red Fang for a while but never able to see them, and Russian Circles was new to me but pretty good. It was around midnight when I  got out and close to 1am when I made it back to my room. Tomorrow I leave Stockholm to head toward Oslo, Norway.

Operation Aurora - The Underworld

I read something shortly before leaving for Sweden about the subway system, the Tunnelbana. Just about every one of their 100 stations was treated as an art gallery. It's something Stockholm touts as the worlds longest art gallery. This is a bit of a misrepresentation---selling themselves short in a way. Not every station is an art gallery. In fact, many stations are the canvas itself, forcing you to walk through the work of art. I imagine it's much like waking up to a beautiful mountain view every morning in that eventually, the majority of people no longer see it. I've never quite been normal---I still look up at the moon at night, find myself momentarily awed at the brief glimpse of mountains off in the distance on my way into work. Still, in the rush of trying to get from point A to B I can understand becoming oblivious to the art. It just slows you down. Despite that, I decided to spend the day checking out Stockholm's subway system.

Not all stations are created equal. One above ground station is more cutie pop-culture reference than grand statement. Covered in small square tiles it becomes an 8-bit video game landscape that cries out Super Mario without ever, as far as I saw, actually crossing into overt copyright violation. Another station looks like it could've been transplanted out of any major American city with it's central platform covered in traditional white subway tile and abstract lines and squiggles of of neon lighting mounted on the ceiling. There are some stations where the artist took the project literally and covered the walls of the station in panels of art to liven up the place.

The underground stations in general are carved into the bedrock below Stockholm and left rough-hewn and natural. This alone creates an impressive juxtaposition of nature and technology, but turn that into a canvas and it transcends gallery altogether. One station, T-Centralen (the heart of the system where all T lines meet), is covered in blue and white, with contrasting vines of some sort of fern or ivy sprawling on the walls and ceiling and the silhouettes of scaffolding and workers building the whole thing. Kungstradgarden is abstractly painted in slightly muted greens and reds in a style that could be a collaboration between Mondrian and Miro, but is also sprinkled with actual artifacts from the old palace (on loan from one of the museums) and presented as an archaeology dig. Solan Centrum is a painted a stark black and vibrant, 70s-horror-movie-fake-blood red.

I spent the entire day in the metro and only saw a fraction of the stations, mostly those of the red and blue line and only one or two on the green line. Ok...I didn't spend the entire day in the metro. I also used to metro as a tool to visit small sections of a large swath of the city. At most stations I would get off and go top side to see what life was like above ground. One trip took me out of the city and into one of the suburbs where there seemed to be nothing but high-rise apartment buildings and highways. Another took me into the heart of the downtown where the beginnings of a Christmas market were going up and an ice skating rink had been setup in one of the squares as the statue of some old Swede looked down at kids and adults sliding around on little blades of metal. Nearly every stop was within a block of some beautiful old church. Many stations exited into shopping malls full of grocery stores and clothing retailers.

Sitting around the malls and watching people do something as mundane as shopping for food was an interesting glimpse into what the average Stockholmian's life is like. But watching them travel through the subway lets you see what they are not. And what they are not is helpful or terribly friendly. They're not outwardly rude, but they aren't approachable or prone to simple acts of kindness. Holding doors and giving way to rushed travelers with more important destinations than me earned me odd, sometimes confused looks, and seemed to out me as a foreigner even more than being fat and carrying a camera. While standing in T-Centralen taking pictures there was a frustrated young woman that looked on the verge of tears. I had seen her stop a few people asking for help only to be rebuffed or ignored completely. She came up to me, but when I replied in English she looked disappointed, said something along the lines of "You wouldn't know" and walked off. A minute later she came back, more frustrated and apologized for asking me something she knew I wouldn't know...but didn't I know how to get to the train station. Not the T-bana or the light rail trains...the trains out of Stockholm. And surprising to both of us, I actually did know.

T-Centralen is the beating heart of the T-bana, but above it's also the beating heart of just about everything in Stockholm that travels on rails. Top-most in this hierarchy is Centralstation where trains to and from Stockholm branch out all over Sweden. In my exploring the station and the above ground area immediately around the station I had been through Centralstation and a brief section of the network on tunnels leading to the trains. I knew how to get to where she was going, but I had no idea how to tell her---so I showed her. At most this took 5 minutes of my time, but on several occasions she thanked me, commented on how a Swede would never do this, and even laughed when I was polite to people. At one point she said "Don't ever change." And then like that we both smiled, I wished her luck, and we went our separate ways. Now this was an extraordinary example of people not being helpful, but on several occasions I found myself in possession of knowledge of the T-bana that people from outside of Stockholm didn't have, and someone that had only been in the city 48 hours was helping direct lifelong Swedes. And at least half the time they made comment about how no one else would help or would feign ignorance.

I'm not saying Swedish people or Stockholmians (I really have no idea if that's a word) are bad, just that they're different. There have been many studies on happiness, the biggest being the World Happiness Report. Year after year, the Scandinavian countries are consistently the top countries---trading places with each other from year to year, but always making up the top ten. In fact, most years if the list was only a top 5 it was just be the Scandinavian Happiness Report. There have been many attempts to understand and interpreted this phenomenon and something interesting typically surfaces. Contrary to what you might think, the Scandinavian people are actually some of the most selfish individuals in the world. The key here is "individuals." As a people, they are rather united and have made sacrifices for the better of the whole and the end result is free healthcare, higher education, a low unemployment rate, economic stability. All of this has given them the freedom to be selfish. They don't need the kindness of strangers, so they don't offer it. It's just...different. And after my initial disappointment I realized it's actually critical to the Scandinavian identity. The people wouldn't be who they are without that. Random aside---the Kiwis typically rate as the most generous in the world.

Operation Aurora - Beginnings Part II

Stockholm is hard to describe geographically. It's not a single city sitting on the edge of the Baltic Sea, but a conglomeration of fourteen small islands situated where Lake Malaren empties into the Baltic. Some basic information about Stockholm, and somewhat of Sweden in general. Most everyone speaks English. I don't know why they do, but it's really convenient. English and the Scandinavian languages all come from Germanic, so there's a lot of similarities. They also seem to devour English media as well-the radio is full of American and British hits, the movies are predominantly American, and . The currency is the Swedish Kronnor, or crown, and it's roughly 10 SEK to 1 USD. Stockholmians are super fit. People walk or bike all over the goddamn place. There are bike lanes on most roads in the city, and lot of bike/walk lanes and bridges to get everywhere you need to go. I was outpaced by pretty much everyone, even those who were easily 20+ years older than me. Being slow, fat, and carrying a camera probably clearly marks me as a tourist---probably as an American tourist. Hopefully replying to everyone I don't understand with "Sorry?" Makes them wonder if I'm Canadian.

 Another fun fact, Stockholm is cold in November. Not Antarctica cold, but colder than South Carolina. I knew this...this wasn't a surprise. But coming from the mid 60s of home, and the freaking 80s in Ft. Lauderdale during my layover, I was surprised to see a good coating of ice on the windshield of my rental car. I was equally surprised by the approximately $100 parking ticket on the windshield. In my sleep deprived state the night before I had forgotten to check with reception to see if the cruise line parking lot was fair game, despite trying to remind myself several times, and found out that it was not. Lesson learned, I moved the car into a parking garage that was at the top of the massive cliff that is immediately across the road from the little harbor where the Burger King is...moored? Then I walked down the 144 steps of the switchback staircase that led back down and played my first game of chicken with the traffic of Stockholm.

My first stop was really one of convenience, even if I am actually interested in the subject, because it's basically right next door to the Burger King---the Fotografiska, or the Photography Museum. The bulk of the museum's exhibits, all of which I believe are temporary (I don't believe they have a permanent collection like most museums), is primarily from Scandinavian photographers, but there are a few small exhibits of American and other artists. The biggest exhibit at the moment is that of a Swedish photojournalist named Paul Hansen. His works span the majority of the different international crises of the last 10 years - earthquakes in Haiti, civil wars in Sudan, Syria, Ukraine, and others, Israeli/Palestinian conflict, and the fight against ISIS. He has a heavy emphasis on refugees in particular, and the innocent victims of these atrocities in general. The photos and the stories that accompany them are heartbreaking and horrifying, but he captures them with such reverence and respect (and talent) that it's hard not to admire the bleak outlook they portray.

 Between sitting at the breakfast table for a couple hours trying to work on my own photos, and taking about two hours to go through the exhibits at Fotografiska it was pretty much lunch time when I finished so I headed up to the museum's rather slick looking restaurant. Supposedly they've won an award for Museum Restaurant of the World. Now I don't know if you've spent much time in museums, and in turn museum restaurants, but they tend to kinda suck so it could be a dubious award if it weren't for the fact that food really is quite good. Even though I only had a salad, the centerpiece of which was a beetroot tartar (yeah, I don't really know what that means), it was a really good salad and the restaurant has a phenomenal view of the Stockholm harbor. I would complain about the fact that it was a bit expensive considering it was a salad but all Museum food is expensive, and all food (and just about everything else) in Stockholm is expensive too.

 After leaving the Fotografiska I decided I was just going to walk around and explore the parts of Stockholm that were within easy walking distance. It turns out that the majority of Stockholm proper is within distance, depending on your limits. My walk first took me into the historic district of Stockholm, known as Gamla Stan (literally Old Town) which is primarily on the island of Stadsholmen, nestled in the water between the main land masses of the city. Gamla Stan seems to be the main haunting ground of tourists to the city, which is understandable considering it's quaint, old-world narrow streets filled with shops and restaurants inside buildings hundreds of years old. Gamla Stan is dotted liberally with beautiful old churches and the Kungliga slottet, or the Royal Palace, where Sweden's monarchs still live (their government is very similar to the UK with a monarch but also a parliament).

 I wandered through the open areas of the palace where armed guards stand at attention and march along short, seemingly symbolic routes and bought a ticket to go inside. For whatever reason I only went through a small section, namely the old treasury, but the ticket is good for a week so I intend to go back and check out the rest. The treasury is small, but houses some well preserved Crown Jewels from reigns of the past; A dozen or so golden crowns, crusted with jewels and backed by beautifully woven and richly colored fabrics; several ceremonial swords with detailed etchings on the blades and pommels encircled with pearls; and various accoutrement that make up the royal regalia like intricate keys of state, globes cruciger, and scepters. I'll cover the rest when I go check it out.

 Once I continued on my meandering through the city I continued walking around the waterfront and ended up stumbling on a museum of modern art, the Moderna Museet on the island of Skeppsholmen. Now I have a bit of a love/hate relationship with modern art. Most of my favorite artists are modern...they're still alive and producing work. But most of my least favorite artists are modern and appear in many museums of modern art. They produce the kind of art that makes me feel like an asshole just looking at it. They take a pair of soccer balls and stick one each in little half-round pieces of Home Depot junk, set them on the floor, and call it a statement on our interaction with objects and the world around us. Yeah...that's the kind of asshole stuff in Moderna Museet. Granted, they have a decent selection of some of the lesser known pieces by Picasso, Mondrian, Matisse, Edward Munch (a Norwegian), and even a Dali. They also have old, weather-faded soccer balls in half circle things. They have an exhibit where a computer mines bitcoins, and when it's earned enough bitcoin it prints out a giant poster of an ancient form of currency on a large format printer. There's a large room wallpapered with used burlap coffee sacks the artists got from coffee farmers by exchanging them for new ones. It is slam full of Grade A asshole material and I enjoyed my time in the Moderna Museet. It's the kind of place where you wonder if the grumpy looking old woman sitting at a table reading a magazine is actually an exhibit. I still don't know for certain she wasn't.

 Once I left the museum, walked back because I realized I lost my phone, and left again after finding it in the bathroom it was well past dark (which doesn't mean much since it's dark by 4:30) and I was exhausted after doing a bit more walking than I was used to (about 8 miles all told) so I walked back around the large half-circle route I'd taken until I got back to my Burger King home and had a tasty dinner of fish and chips (not exactly quintessential Swedish fare) and a couple pints of Hoga Kusten, a decent but not amazing amber beer named after the High Coast of Sweden. And then I slept on my Burger King bunk bed.

Operation Aurora - Beginnings Part I

There's not much that can be said about the beginnings of a trip that make it any less boring or any more glamorous than it is or isn't. There was a hotel in Atlanta so I didn't have to wake up at 4am to drive down. There was a long layover in Ft. Lauderdale that involved leaving the secure area to get my luggage cause I took one of those super cheap airlines that don't connect your luggage through to your destination only to find I was 5 hours too early to check back in for my next flight. Even then there was another 5 hours of waiting in the concourse. There was a long, 8-ish hour flight where even though I've lost a lot of weight recently I found that I'm still a massively fat fuck in the eyes of the airline industry. But after about 20 hours of flying and waiting and flying I arrived in Stockholm sleep deprived but intact and with all my luggage in hand. 

I'm going to blame the sleep deprived bit on my inability to follow directions or make sense of the narrow, weaving, convoluted roads of Stockholm and turning the last 10 minutes of the drive to my hotel into over 30 minutes. I also don't know when rush hour is in Stockholm, but to make me feel better we're going to say it starts early in the afternoon at about the exact time I made it into the downtown area. But again I arrived intact at the floating hotel that will be my home in Stockholm for the next 4 days, the M/S Birger Jarl. I don't know what a Birger is, but a jarl is a chief or a king, so I've been mentally referring to it as the Burger King (it turns out Birger Jarl was a statesman from the early 13th century). The Burger King is a small cruise ship, it's relative size made plainly apparent when the neighboring cruise ships that dock each morning-which in turn would be dwarfed by the full sized cruise ships the likes of Royal Caribbean or...whoever the hell else has giant aircraft carrier sized floating bars. When it's not out on very short excursions the Burger King is a floating hostel, hotel, restaurant, cocktail bar, and probably some other things in the summer months like a discotheque or a bingo parlor (everyone I've seen get on the larger cruise ships next door have been in their...uh...twilight years). 

My room, though private with its own bathroom (not as common as you'd think), is more hostel than stateroom. Presumably they have better appointed, proper berths on the floors above for people who aren't better suited for steerage like myself. However, the bed is solid, the toilet is functional (though it flushes with this initially terrifying jet-engine sucking sound), and I have a porthole of my own that looks at the granite wall of the harbor where I can see the feet of people walking by if I'm laying in bed. It is my own basement apartment away from home. The walls are entirely old 60s/70s wood panel wainscoting, I sleep on a simple but comfortable enough bunk bed, and the bathroom is a tiny multi-purpose room where you could easily sit on the toilet, brush your teeth, and shower all at the same time. Again...it does the job. As proof, I slept 13 hours after I got to the hotel and had food that didn't come from an airport or airplane microwave. Though, to be fair the "hot" vegetarian sandwich I had on the long Norwegian Airlines flight to Stockholm was fine, even if it was still cold in the middle. 

Half a day of sleep did a surprisingly good job of getting me back in action and resetting my very jet lagged clock (Stockholm is 6 hours ahead of Eastern Standard Time). I woke in time to grab breakfast, included in the dirt cheap room rate, which was simple but did the job. There was an assortment of breads, meats and cheeses I assume are for some kind of hearty breakfast sandwich that includes pickles, as well as jams, caviar, and a pate of some sort. The caviar was salty and fishy but not bad, the pate was nasty and disgusting as fuck and I think I was the only person who tried any. There were also little shot glasses of sour milk and raspberries. The sour milk is essentially a tart yogurt (and pleasantly reminded me of the skyr I had in Iceland). For free I can't complain and it was more than enough to get me going out on the town for my first Swedish excursion. (Continued in Part II)

Intro: Operation Aurora

Man, it's hard to believe it's been three years since I last took a major trip. Other than a birthday roadtrip up the Atlantic coast (SC to NJ) it's really been nothing but short trips to visit friends down on the coast and to Atlanta. So much of my free time the last couple years has been focused on writing—I finished my 2nd book and am half way through two other books. However, as most of these in-between posts usually go I am about to set off on another adventure. In two days I will be on my way to Sweden with plans to tour around Norway and Finland (and Tallinn, Estonia or Copenhagen if time permits). It's a really loosely put together trip—I didn't even have a room in Stockholm until last night even though I've known about the trip since June. Part of the reason for that, aside from my general aversion to meticulously planned vacations, is that I want the freedom to pick up and head north should the weather and the aurora borealis cooperate. You see, the only real goal of this trip is to see the aurora in person. It's something I've always wanted to see, and I was really disappointed when my trip to Iceland (over six years ago!) netted no more than a few hours of clear sky the whole two weeks I was there. The same could happen again, but I'm hoping being further north (better chance of aurora activity) and in a country that isn't directly in the line of the oceanic and jet streams (which keeps Iceland warm for it's latitude, but also wetter) will improve my chances. But much like the Iceland trip, if it doesn't work out, I'll adapt and have a good time anyways. So begins Operation Aurora.