Sweden!!! Part 3...

I get up when I hear Olov in the kitchen. It’s Thursday and somewhat early. He’s got the radio on, playing 60’s music.
“Mornin’.” I smile.
“Hey. You want pancakes for breakfast?” he asked while holding the door to the ‘fridge open.
“Sure.” I pour a glass of water.
“It’s Thursday right?”
“Uh huh.” I nod.
“Thursday is pancake day in Sweden.”
“Really?” I laugh.
“Yup. We eat pancakes and pea soup.”
“Pea soup?” I raise an eyebrow.
“Yeah, but I don’t like it.”
“Me either.”
I watch him pull various ingredients out and place them on the counter.
“We don’t eat pancakes with syrup like you Americans.”
“What do you eat them with?”
“Jam.”
I nod.
“I do think I have some syrup though.” he reached up to open a cabinet.
“No, I’ll eat them with jam.” I smiled.
When they were finished, he was eating them with the syrup, and I had blackberry jam. Delicious!
“I think I’m going to try and go to the Vasa Museum today.” I tell him as he’s leaving for work.
“Oh yeah?”
“How do I get there?”
We walk over to the map in his kitchen.
“We’re here, there’s the museum.” he pointed. “Take bus number 47. It’ll take you all the way there. You’ll see the Nordic Museum first. It looks like a castle.”
“Ok.” I nod. I don’t do buses but this is the only way to get there. I’m intimidated by their schedules and the mass number of them. God forbid I get on the wrong one.
“I have to work tonight, overnight. I’m going to record music today and it’s also my sister’s birthday. You want to meet back here for a little while at five?”
“Yup!”
He leaves and I get everything ready to go, looking at the map one more time. I stop in at Creem for coffee.
“Hey!” I exclaim when I see Benny at the counter.
“Hey.” he smiled.
“How are ya?”
He shrugged. “Ok. You?”
“Good.” I nodded.
“The usual?” he asked.
“Yup!” I smile when he hands me a large glass of coffee. I’ve never had coffee in a glass before.
I alternate between writing and staring out the window, until I can’t sit still anymore. I get up and when I’m outside, I see bus #47 loading across the street. I walk faster until I reach it and climb on.
I thought I’d read on the ride over but I’m too enthralled with everything going on outside. Certain streets are filled with people, others are filled with cafes and stores. We pass the Acne jeans store and I smile. I think I’ll be going back for those jeans. I quickly make other mental notes to return to the surrounding areas.
In what seemed like thirty seconds, we were pulling up outside the Nordic Museum. I got off the bus and walked passed the museum and followed the signs to the Vasa Museum.
Good. Lord. The place is huge. The Vasa was a ship that sank in 1628 during a battle between Sweden and Poland. It was later found and pulled out of the ocean in the 1960’s.
I can’t believe I’m looking at something from so long ago that is so huge and still intact. Intricate sculptures line the ends of the ship. The belly of it is extremely wide. The room is so dark, my picture taking results in near black images on my camera’s screen. I keep walking around and around, reading various facts about the ship and looking at the remains of clothing, etc that was also found on it. I imagine my dad would enjoy this place a great deal.
I have no idea what time it is, when I leave. I contemplate the Nordic Museum but there are a lot of people coming in and out of there and I decide I can always come back. I don’t find museums to be enjoyable when they’re overly busy.
Instead of taking the bus I decide to walk back, stopping at Acne of course. I head straight back to the jeans section where a tall, thin man with navy eyes and dirty blonde hair is folding a pair and placing them on the shelf in front of him. He says something to me in Swedish.
“Sorry, I speak English.” I reply.
“Oh! Well, is there anything I can help you find?”
“I’m looking for a pair of jeans that aren’t too tapered at the ankle.” I’ve had enough of the skinny jean thing for now.
He pulls out pair after pair in many different shades of denim explaining the difference between them. Each pair he pulls out look as if it would fit a twelve year old American. I discover the most common sizes are waist sizes 24-26. Ouch.
After talking some more with him I walk into the dressing room with a stack of jeans. I’m breaking into a sweat by the time I’m done trying them all on. Finally. I settle on the pair I tried on yesterday. Dramatically high waist, slightly flared leg.
I thank the guy for his help, pay for the jeans, (another “ouch” moment, regardless of dollars or Swedish kronors) and happily take my new purchase with me.
It’s about time to head back to Olov’s. I put my iPOD in and find a train station. “Addicted” by Saving Abel plays and tears spring to my eyes again. I do wish Rob were here, or at the very least in Atlanta when I returned. I wonder if he’d even like Stockholm. I imagine it would be too cold for him, but he’d enjoy the architecture and all the bridges. I remember him saying he wanted to travel more…
…”Excuse me.” the man next to me almost whispered, standing up.
“Oh sorry!” I immediately try to lower my feet in my airplane seat.
“No, no, you’re fine.” he smiled and took a giant step over my extended legs then disappearing into the bathroom. I have no idea how long we’ve been in the air or what time it is. I’m wrapped up in a blanket, still reading this book. I’m almost half way done by now.
I prop up on my elbows and survey around the cabin. It’s dark from everyone pulling their shades down. Nearly every passenger is asleep and I’m jealous. I place my open book across my stomach and close my eyes.
…I push the huge key in the door and twist it. The door opens and I step in, taking off my shoes.
“Wow! You’re right on time!” Olov exclaims from his room.
“Of course. I’m never late.” I smile, joining him where he’s eating dinner in bed, watching TV.
“How’s your day?” I ask him.
“Good. You?”
I nod. “I made it to the museum. I ended up practically walking back. I bought some jeans and of course stopped at Creem this morning.”
“You get some writing done?”
“Yes sir I did!”
We’re quiet for a while until he asks if I’ll make breakfast in the morning.
“I was actually thinking about it!” I laugh.
“You were?”
“Yeah. Anything in particular you want?”
“Nope.”
I think to myself that I’ll make French Toast. Do I do it my way with a chocolate spread or my aunt’s way with cream cheese icing? Hmm. I don’t remember a whole lot about that icing…
“What are you going to do tonight?” his voice interrupts my thoughts.
“I don’t know yet. I think I may go back to Gamla Stan…” I look out and see the sky is already beginning to darken a little.
“I have to get going. I’m going to see my sister then off to work. I’ll call you later on the landline, see how you’re doing. Ok?”
“Ok.” I nod.
He quickly leaves and I get on the computer. I Google “cream cheese icing”, then stare at the screen. I blink twice, just to make sure I’m seeing this correctly. Every word on the screen is in damn Swedish! Alright, fine then. Chocolate it is!
I walk to the grocery store and step through the doors. Folks, there ain’t a damn word of English up in here. (“What did you expect?” Olov asks me later. “I know, I know…”) I have a small list of easily identifiable food items and set out to get them. Eggs, bread, juice, Nutella Chocolate spread. I think about this before purchasing it. There’s a reason I don’t buy it at home. It’s certainly one of my “trigger” foods and can spark something compulsive but food hasn’t crossed my mind all week, except when I’m hungry. I feel ok about it and walk up front to pay.
I watch the girl in front of me bag her own groceries. I do the same and leave.
It’s dark when I get back to Olov’s. I put all the groceries away, (After a bite of that Nutella) and change clothes. I locate the chocolate café I’ve been wanting to visit on the map, and set out to find it. I feel energized by all the people outside tonight. I take the train to Gamla Stan and get off. Once my feet hit the street, I feel unsure. I don’t remember which way to go and I don’t want to pull my map out either. Dammit.
A jewelry store catches my eye and I walk over there examining all the pretty things. I then start walking again. The streets are much quieter at night than during the day. I stand up straight and survey my surroundings while still walking. It’s not that I feel unsafe, just unsure. I finally realize I have absolutely no clue as to where I am. While walking, aggravated, in search of the water now, I’m trying to identify my feelings. I’m a little surprised when I admit to myself that I suddenly feel incompetent, hideous and a bit defeated by my lack of sense of direction. Although it’s better than it has been since I first started traveling alone, it’s still severely lacking.
I find the underground fairly quickly, being I didn’t wander too far off the path. When I make it back to Olov’s, I shower and crawl into bed with my book. I was looking forward to some sleep but finding again that it isn’t coming quickly. I keep reading until the phone rings and I jump out of my skin then out of bed to answer it.
“Hi.” I smile.
“Hey. How are you?” Olov’s voice reverberates through the receiver.
“Sleepy. You?”
“Yeah, I just got to work.”
“How was your sister’s?”
“Good.”
We stay on the line a little longer before he has to go. I put the phone back and read until my eyes finally close…