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Position: 59°19’31.6″N 18°04’15.3″E
With all roads from Ullverad leading to Stockholm that’s where we pointed our little car. Sweden, as Carol said a few times, is much bigger than you think. And much emptier. Thick forests on both sides of the highway made me wonder how long ago Britain had looked like that? Two thousand years perhaps? Soon broad, dark green fields appeared. Spring’s first plantings, having grown a good half metre high, gave a flat lushness to the dark groves of pine trees in the background.
Kilometres sped by. Highways in Sweden take some getting used to. The standard issue blue EU direction signs and lane markings were all familiar. It was the barriers dividing the median and lack of shoulder that made me a little claustrophobic. What there was of the shoulder, about six inches, was lined with the same steel cable and pilings in the median. What, I wondered, would happen if we broke down?
It didn’t take long to find out. At a long arcing curve, we almost ran into a fella who had stopped, put his flashers on and was futzing with his cargo. Smack in the middle of my lane. Fortunately, my Spidey sense kicked in soon enough that Carol didn’t bang her head during the sharp swerve I made to avoid him.
After that I was tempted to drive in the left lane. Except, the Swedes are very disciplined. They follow the speed limit. They overtake on the left and keep to the right the rest of the time. Given the lawlessness on Albuquerque’s highways it was a pleasant change.
MOOSE
Opting to stay out of town, we booked a small cabin on Fågelbrodlandet (roughly Bird Bridge Land), an island about 40 minutes east of Stockholm. The low, dark blue cabin was quiet, snug and surrounded by moose. Well, a moose. Okay, one baby moose poked her nose around the garden on our first night. We never saw her again.
Our host, Frederick, advised us to take our car 20 minutes up the road and catch a bus into the city. With parking running $10/hour we readily took his advice. If you ever wondered why Sweden’s highways aren’t jammed with cars, it’s because everyone uses public transportation. It’s fast, cheap, and reliable. And full of people. Your bus ticket can be used in the subway or on any of the dozens of ferries plying Stockholm’s inner harbour.
All Shall Have Prizes
Stockholm’s old city centre is its beating heart of tourism. Swifties thronged the place. Restaurants divided themselves into Italian pizza or Swedish meatballs. Thanks to jet lag, we arrived later than we should have. After a late brunch at home, we opted not for food, but the Nobel Prize Museum. An odd collection of pens and glasses, it felt underplayed given the august names trundling overhead on a track. I did learn more about Mr. Nobel and his explosives. Were it not for his contributions to armaments, the First World War might have been fought with peashooters.
We wandered through the streets snapping photos and people watching. Crossing a bridge we popped into the Riddarsholmskyrkan. Around the corner we took in the romantic beauty of Stockholm’s city hall. By the time we finished our circular walk and found the ticket office for the grand palace, it would close in 35 minutes. That didn’t seem near long enough for the price, so we bagged it and turned our attention to an early supper.
Off hour eating is one of the few tricks I’ve mastered as a tourist. Forget about waiting in line for a restaurant, pitch up at 4:30PM for dinner and there’s always a table. If you’re getting your Swede on, we recommend the Tradition restaurant. Torskrygg (cod) for Carol and Köttbullar (Swedish meatballs) for me. Perfect!
VASA MATTER YOU?
On our second day we committed to an early start and ferried ourselves to the Vasa Museet. Vasa that, you ask? The Vasa is a warship. A huge Swedish galleon commissioned by Gustav II Adolf in 1625. When she was launched in August, 1628, she was the most powerfully armed ship in the Baltic. For about an hour. Two gusts of wind caught the Vasa’s sails 120 metres from shore. She rolled heavily. Water rushed in through the gun ports, filling her bilges. Her crew jumped ship and swam to shore as she sank without ceremony. Of 120 people on board, 30 drowned with her.
As a management consultant, my favourite part of the story was the canny way Vasa’s shipwright, Henrik Hybertsson, secured the king’s approval of his design. Given the state of the art in 17th century shipbuilding was tippy at best, this was a smart move. A full enquiry into the sinking ended up blaming no one. Perhaps one of history’s finest examples of managing up to avoid responsibility.
Beams and Bodies
Attempts to raise her over the next 150 years failed. In 1956 she was located again and finally technology was up to the challenge. In August 1959 she broke the surface. What you see today took almost 40 years of meticulous restoration work. The hull came up mostly intact, preserved by the harbour’s toxic silt and cold water. Thousands of dives rescued artefacts, beams, and bodies. They sprayed the oak ship with polyethylene glycol for 17 years to stabilize the wood while they pieced her back together. Today she is about 96% original and stands six stories high in her climate controlled building.
The Vasa is massive. As sailors we’ve developed an eye for where a vessel’s waterline should be. Vasa’s is clearly marked and about 5 metres up from her keel. That leaves another 15 metres of ornately carved, thick, heavy oak beams and planking to balance. Not to mention the masts. She is so top heavy; you can see instinctively that no amount of ballast would keep her upright in a blow.
THE SPRUCE GOOSE
The Vasa reminded me of the Spruce Goose, Howard Hughes’ misguided 1940s attempt at building a transport plane the size of a 747. Hughes, like Vasa’s Dutch designer, had grandiose ideas. Bigger was better. After all there was a war on.
Both men took the functional designs of their day and simply scaled them up. The Spruce Goose was no more likely to carry tanks across the ocean than the Vasa was. If you visit the Evergreen Aviation Museum in Oregon, you can see the Goose. Instinctively you’ll know its tail is too big and its engines too small. Hughes knew this too. Which is why he flew it only a half a mile across Los Angeles harbour to meet the terms of his government contract. He landed it and stored it in a warehouse for the rest of his life[1].
GENDER Neutrality
One other baffling feature of the Vasa Museum is its gender-neutral toilets. I say baffling only on behalf of the foreigners milling around the foyer clearly needing a pee and wondering which door to choose. You see, there are two doors to the toilets, each with a CIS female/male graphic. Having lived in Europe for a while, that graphic is commonly found anywhere only one loo is available and indicates everyone can use it. In this case, the doors opened to a long room with 10 stalls. Each stall was roomy and had a solid floor-to-lintel door and a hefty lock. A row of sinks and a long mirror lined the wall opposite.
Being a quick study, I jumped the queue while two German men hesitated in front of me. A woman coming out as I went in hesitated, but not more than anyone surprised by a door in front of them suddenly opening. My alacrity was fueled by need and experience (to date we have seen very few gender-specific dunnies anywhere in Scandinavia). It works like this: go in, lock the door, do your business, exit and wash your hands after. More available stalls, less waiting. Better for women. Better for everyone. Now if only the rest of the world would shut up and embrace Scandi-style gender-neutral toaletts, we might all pee in peace.
FAM
After the museum I got a text from Emma. We walked over to where she was gathering with her friends before Tay Tay’s concert for a short catch up. She looked very relaxed about her upcoming wedding and life in general. Married life must suit her. We are very much looking forward to the big event in Chamonix on July 6!
[1] It really was made of wood. Mostly birch plywood. Arguably making it the world’s largest paper airplane.
