CHANGE was the name of the game on this trip. Changing languages, money systems, sleeping accommodations, food, and toilet facilities every few days, wax paper in England, no paper at all in the men's rooms at railway stations, according to the report I got. Just a wall of continuously running water. In Sweden, crepe paper. Basic needs. My travel journal notes mention basic needs, often.
Next morning, we got a real view of the islands, riding to the top of a tower in a glass elevator. To get to where we wanted to be took us on an unplanned walking tour through street construction being done as part of the change to right-hand traffic. We were detoured along near impossible-to-traverse walkways, even walking under the water near bridge re-construction. You could reach the WATER in just about any direction. Steps at City Hall, built near a spot where sea, gulf, and lake met, led right down into the water. Despite the language barrier, we thought we got our request for milk and fish on a bun across just fine at a small "no English spoken here" market. It wasn't milk that we got and although we were both very thirsty, whatever it was, it tasted so bad we had to throw it away.
My brother, Keith, gave me the name of his former mission companion, who, at the time of our trip, was president of the Swedish mission. "Give him a call and say hello, from me." The president was not in his office but the branch president asked if we'd like to stay with members. We jumped at the chance. Per his instruction, we took a tram out of the city, not knowing where we were going or who we'd meet.
Herr Frohm, an elderly gentleman, was standing there on the station platform when we arrived, hands behind his back, shuffling his feet back and forth like a young school boy, with a bunch of carnations in his hands. In addition to his Swedish, he also spoke some Danish and a little German. His wife hugged us, warmly. She was a Dane who also spoke some Swedish. We followed them home and there, a Mr. Olsen whose office was next door, said he knew a little English and came over to translate. Turned out, he spoke very little English. A three-ringed circus of languages ensued, with Frohm and Olsen speaking mostly Swedish, Frohm and Frank attempting to communicate in German, a bit of Danish slipping in here and there, plus Frank's translation to English, for my benefit, of what he thought was being said. Herr Frohm understood that my father's cousin, Ake, lived in Stockholm so he began to work the phone, calling the branch president, the mission home, the Elders, my cousin and then he'd begin again, going through his call list, until arrangements had been made for us.
The Frohm's moved themselves to the back rooms of their home, made us comfortable in the front of the house and gave us a key to the front door, in response to that one, simple phone call from their branch president. We were complete strangers to them and their president! Mrs. Frohm kept a small table in our assigned space filled with food and drink. Anytime we looked as though we were not on the move, she would repeat the only English words she knew, "Egg n Bacone"? and bring more food to that table. They fussed and worried about us getting lost if we took 10 steps in any direction, though we were free to come and go as we pleased.
We had dinner with Ake and his wife, Lola, that evening. Ake was recovering from an illness that had robbed him of some of his English fluency so he spoke haltingly, asking us to correct his English and speak slowly. Their lovely apartment had a nice view overlooking a park. SUNSET at dusk was a beauty. He assured us that the wine he served before dinner was non-alcoholic. Having had no experience with wine of any kind or the service of such, I drank as soon as it was poured instead of waiting for the toast. And I continued drinking, as though sucking down a soda. Frank leaned over to whisper, "Don't gulp it down. Sip it!" How could I? There was only enough in those glasses for about one good swig, anyway, and I was thirsty!
We were served small, open faced sandwiches--raw fish, smoked beef, liver sausage, and cream cheese with peas and carrots--and tomato juice to drink. Then came Ox steak, dilled potatoes, salad and another drink of some kind. Dessert was rye crisp with Swiss cheese and pears. I would not have refused anything but I did swallow the raw fish quickly, without chewing. Yikes! Just not something I'd ever had before. I felt a bit squeamish about it but tried not to show that. Ake gave us a lesson in Swedish. We had a grand time. Then he and Lola rode the tram with us, all the way back to Frohm's. Our hosts were waiting up for us.
Venturing into town, we found the very narrow, cobblestone street leading into the old part of Stockholm with Swedish flags flying all along and lots of interesting shops to investigate. We took flowers home to Sister Frohm. She seemed thrilled! Our gesture, though a common custom for the area, we'd learned, brought on another round of hugs and kisses. Missionaries--one from Ogden, UT--had been invited for dinner. After the meal, we took the Tunnelbana to the branch house for MIA. All the young Swedes spoke English. We were taken on a tour of the ultra-modern building with its unusual steeple. I was asked to play the organ and give a critique of the instrument. It was different from anything I'd played on before but very nice, just like the building, itself. In addition to the Swedes, we met Germans, Finns, Norwegians and even a few Americans, there.
Ake and Lola took us on a bus tour of the city. We stopped for pastry at a beautiful roof garden cafe atop "NK", the largest department store in Stockholm at that time. We went home with them to have Swedish pancakes. Aw-w-w...I really was in Sweden! The only problem was that when we returned to Frohms, there was, on the table, a fresh torte--thin crepes stacked with Lingonberry Jam between each layer and we were expected to eat it all! I spent a good part of that night in the bathroom. Despite that experience, I still love, love, love Swedish pancakes!
Bro. Frohm wanted to go everywhere with us and like doting grandparents, he and Ake bought us postcards and ice cream wherever we went. Bro. Frohm took us to see a 16th Century Swedish war ship called, Vasa, that sank on its maiden voyage and had just been brought up from the ocean floor for a restoration attempt. That process was very interesting to see, the shell of a ship cradled and braced within a specially built platform, being misted and sprayed constantly to keep it from drying too quickly. Wooden walkways zig-zagged all around the structure, giving curious onlookers, like us, a view of history.
Apparently, the camera had malfunctioned, so we boarded a night train an hour or two before midnight one evening to make the 10-hour trip back to Norway to retake some pictures. Bright sunshine through train windows woke us by 2:00 am. Getting enough sleep in a part of the world where there was more daylight than nightlight was a challenge. We had flown into Oslo the first time we were there. Arriving by train and seeing everything from ground level was a whole new experience. We rode a cog tram to its last stop up the mountain, through some of the most beautiful scenery we had seen yet, then hiked higher to reach a ski lift that took us to an observation tower near the top of a mountain. We walked to a ski jump site. That was amazing even in summer. Kids were swimming in a nearby lake. It was wonderful to hear bird calls. The hot dogs were delicious, served with onions dried in some way and a very hot sauce. This day-trip back to Norway was so worth it!
Back in Stockholm, we went to Djergardon to see Skansen, an exercise in the preservation of houses, landscaping, costuming, skills and craftmanship from Swedish history. In the evening, we shared smorgbrod and soppa with Lola and Ake one last time, then returned to what had been our home away from home to say our goodbyes to the Frohms.
Traveling at night again, we awoke very early, finding ourselves on a ferry--the entire train car--heading towards Denmark. Lucky thing, since that's where we wanted to go! On shore, the car was connected to another train and we were off to Copenhagen. Almost everything in Stockholm had been expensive. I'd hoped to buy even a small piece of Royal Danish Porcelain, but like Stockholm, nearly everything was expensive in Copenhagen. Everything, except the pastry. Affordable and the best tasting thing of its kind I'd ever eaten, we lived on it the entire time we were there! Oh, you just had to ask. The answer is,"Yes", we both gained a bit of weight even though our infatuation with Danish pastry was brief.
Denmark was celebrating its 800th birthday! We joined the celebration, attending the parade, then visiting the "Little Mermaid", a "must see" if you are in Copenhagen. In that part of the harbor, there were beautiful gardens, and plush restaurants. The royal yacht was anchored across the way. If it was a sunny day, a carved figure of a girl on her bicycle appeared atop a weather tower. If it was rainy, she appeared with her umbrella. We said ,"Hello", to Hans Christian Anderson, took a look at the tower sculpture with dragons at the stock exchange, and found the Lutheran church, built of towers of bricks to resemble organ pipes. It was bright inside and inviting. So many religious structures we'd seen, so far, were tomb-like. Inside, there was a beautiful, pipe organ and the traditional model ship hanging from the ceiling. http://www.danishmuseum.org/fhgc/aoat/Viking_church_ship.pdf
Tivoli, another "must see", was an amusement park with rides and carnival acts, a live orchestra playing, a ballet being performed, and lots of gambling tables in full operation. [I didn't know then that I'd end up living stateside in a place known for its gambling casinos.] A young boy's marching band dressed much like the Royal Palace guards, came through the grounds, winding along paths, playing as they went by. Enjoying the park, we barely made our train connection. Crossing another span of water by ferry, we stretched out to catch some much needed Z's. A little after midnight, we were awakened and told we must change cars. This meant picking our way down train tracks, half asleep. Once we were aboard the new car, several conductors passed through at least a dozen times, checking passports and tickets. It was a pretty sleepless night.
So, ... what day was it? We had bypassed Brussels and the view from the train now was of flat land, few trees, no pines, thatched roofs and windmills. This must be Amsterdam. Closer to the city, it appeared that every house had what looked like a TV antenna attached. Entering our hotel required pulling a rope while standing on the third step from the bottom to unlatch the door. [Did I say earlier that hotels were boring? Seemed a bit complicated at first but this was just plain, old fun!] Our room was on the third floor, up narrow stairs. Everyone shared ONE bathroom, two flights down. I think it was here that the toilet tank was affixed to the wall high above the throne, literally a throne, with the antique-looking appliance bolted to a platform maybe a foot or so off the floor.
The entire city was built on wooden piles. A cruise through the canals informed us about the land of Amsterdam, too soft to support buildings, and what little there was of it was made possible only by constant pumping. Buildings were decorated, every one with a different facade. Windows on the "ground" level were large. The house owner lived there. Windows got smaller on the next level and so on. They were quite small at the top floor, where the servants of the household lived.
We learned quickly to dodge bikes. In a population of 600,000 at the time of our visit, 400,000 bikes were on the roads, the streets, everywhere. Museums captured our attention, though I wasn't educated, prepared or mature enough to truly appreciate the fact that I was seeing the original works of Rembrandt--"The Nightwatch"--and Van Goghs--one entire museum dedicated to his art, exclusively--and other priceless works of art. The diamond factory tour was certainly interesting. It took a worker eight hours just to cut the facets on one small stone. We took the guide's word on that and didn't stick around to watch the entire process.
Food was inexpensive, often served family style and SUPERBLY delicious. For about $5, both of us were served steak and potatoes, vegetables and salad, about twice as much as we could eat! Whipped cream appeared on almost everything. Sandwich shops were popular. Roast beef was served VERY rare. In the street markets, you'd find a guy with a wooden mallet in hand, ready to kill a fresh eel for you, just for the asking. The real delicacy was raw hamburger, eaten on a soft bun, and raw herring with chopped onions. Amsterdam had a peculiar odor, all its own. You couldn't escape it. Was it the canals, the raw meat and fish, or the onions?
Seeing the countryside of Belgium where men and women were working in the fields, wearing traditional dress and wooden shoes, was a BONUS, on our way to Paris, France. We traveled through field after field of flowers, hay piled in little stacks, then hung on frames to dry, herds of cows, on very flat landscape. As we got closer to Paris, the land rose up a bit more, became more hilly and green. It appeared to be a mighty friendly place, people kissing all over the place. Well, what could be more romantic than moonlight on the Seine? Paris--the Louver, the Eiffel Tower, Arc de Triumph, Notre Dame--was fully lighted at night. Just for us, announcing our arrival? Just kidding, but it sure made the night tour of the city impressive.
Paris was not nearly as impressive in the light of day but Frank thought I should attend the Follies Bergere performance to complete my European cultural shock experience. I agreed to this but while standing in line, I kept looking around and over my shoulder to be sure that no one who knew me would witness what I was about to do. You know what the Follies are, right?
The Metro required lots of energy to climb at least two flights of stairs and then descend again in order to reach the track needed and to get anywhere usually meant a couple of train changes. That amounted to a whole lot of stair climbing, in hot and humid weather. We didn't dare drink the brown, smelly water but found it difficult to find anything to drink that hadn't been made with that water. Locals drank wine, almost exclusively. We finally talked one waitress into bringing us hot milk as she served our typical Continental breakfast of french bread, coffee or tea. By lunchtime, we'd found the BEST steak and pom fritz, ever, for about a dollar and began a Coke Cola habit. That became our one meal of each day while we were in Paris. And our evening drink, when we could find it.
Streets were narrow. Everyone seemed to be carrying a loaf of french bread, sans any wrapping. French men all looked feminine to me, and were often rude. I didn't see fashion on the street like I had expected to find. City traffic was not to be believed, with three speeds, wound, maim, and kill. It seemed to be one, big free-for-all. I packed a box of things we didn't need with us and would put in storage, to be picked up later, on our way back through Paris, to get to the boat to go home. The message had already been made clear that Parisians had a strong dislike for "Americans". The store clerk made our purchase of string to tie up our box, difficult, first by pretending she neither spoke nor understood English--not true--then being uncooperative about the purchase. Our accommodations in Paris had been crummy, dirty sheets when we arrived, and hot water, infrequently. To take a bath or plug in my iron cost extra. We were glad to check out. The front desk person refused our request for a cab call.
It was a L-O-N-G way up, to the top of the Eiffel Tower but the view of the city from there was terrific. A boat tour along the Seine took us past many landmarks and a whole lot of bridges. Frank left me sitting with our bags in a park at the Louvre, while he took pictures. Two Frenchmen sure took an interest in me. Or was it our bags? Having seen all that french bread, we bought some, and cheese and had a picnic, just like the natives, on the train ride to Barcelona, Spain. We had the misfortune of having company for this leg of our journey. Even when she realized that we couldn't understand her, the woman would not stop talking. We turned the lights out to stop the noise and changed trains just across the border, going through customs yet again.
Terraced hillsides, fields and arbors of grapes, Spanish architecture, a train with no drinking water or bathroom facilities. That last stretch to Barcelona was rough. Amazed that the train stayed on the tracks, right side up, transportation in this part of the world was not what we'd grown accustomed to, but the view of the Mediterranean was grand and so-o-o BLUE. The breeze coming off the Sea in the South of Spain was welcome; It was their warmest summer in a long time.
What was going on with the cab drivers at the station? Some drivers refused to take passengers and just sat in their taxis. Some would drive off with an empty cab. Some took fares only when customers ran into the street and got, what appeared to us, physical. One of the drivers came to us. Watching the hustling and goings on made us suspicious of him. He tried repeatedly to have us understand what he was offering. When we didn't, he would walk away, throw up his hands and say, "Momma Mia", but then return to us to try again. Finally, we followed him to his taxi. All the way to our hotel, he kept talking. About us and how difficult we had been? Why could we not see how very simple it all was? Even laughing at us, the dumb Americans? We didn't know but his fee was so small, Frank gave him double the amount for all his trouble. The hotel was a bit of paradise after the place in Paris and the wreck of a train ride we'd had. Having a shower, the first in about 10 days, was paradise.
A tour of the city included some sights like the unfinished monstrosity called a church, a bull fight where two soldiers tried to pick me up, a night club flamenco performance and Coke Cola! We were not soda drinkers until we ran out of safe drinking water after leaving Copenhagen but we reasoned that the water in Coke had been treated during the bottling process, making it safer to drink than plain water. Evidently, Spaniards in Spain disliked Americans, too.
Along Ramblos, Barcelona's main street, there was cart after cart of flowers. A big open air market along the promenade sold everything, fruit, fishes and meats, snacks of many kinds. We'd been cautioned so we kept to bread, cheese, and fruit that could be peeled. Hustlers practically dragged us onto a boat for a harbor tour, one far more industrial than picturesque. Our tour entertainment was a guy playing around with an accordion, not actually playing any music, then asking for money. Young boys took great delight in peeing in the streets. We had to really hunt to find places to buy bread and cheese safe to eat. Fresh vegetables were off limits. I think it was here or nearly so that Fanta orange soda also became another staple in our diet.
We were in a taxi and on our way to the train station when Frank discovered he still had the hotel key in his hand. We had to go back. At the train station, again, we were told we must stand in a line. Tickets, even though we had passes? That line we stood in for quite some time put us on a train much nicer than the one we'd traveled into Barcelona on, an express train all air conditioned and comfy. An old Englishman caused quite an uproar. He spoke only English, really, but tried to use the few words of several languages he'd picked up, all in the same sentence. No one understood him. Even his English was questionable. Each time the train slowed down, he thought it was time to change trains. He'd been told a dozen times that he'd be advised of stops or changes but every time an official came through the car, he'd follow them along, asking questions they could not understand. Poor dear. He needed a travel companion.
We changed trains, thinking we were going, as planned, to the Riviera. Wrong train. We jumped off at the next stop, then decided not to go through what it would take to get back to board the right train so we jumped back on just before it pulled away from the station, literally, passing through some beautiful country, green valleys and mountains, a little like Austria. We were not far from the Swiss border so we saw lots more greenery than any part of Span or France had displayed before. Changed trains again in Marsharey and found it so comfortable, we stayed on to Rome, and from Rome, a train to Naples.
No wonder there was such activity going on in the Rome train station, with people jockeying for hotel, taxi, and train space. What a ride it was to Naples, Frank and I and others stood in the aisle in the end car the entire way. It was summer vacation time for the locals and the trains were jam-packed. It seemed that to get along with Italians required shoving, pushing, and a lot of hollering. That's how they seemed to cope with each other. It was a very, hot trip with another train change along the way to Sorrento. As the train climbed up the side of a mountain a bit, passing orange and lemon groves, row upon row of olive trees and grape vineyards, the air cooled a little. Run-down houses and dirty, unsupervised kids were also a part of the scene. Some people seemed to be existing in holes in the ground. From Naples, we made brief runs to Sorrento and Capri.
Sorrento was small, without the hustle and bustle of bigger cities, built on cliffs that rise straight out of the Mediterranean Sea. A purple flowering vine of some sort hung along walls. Flowers were everywhere. Our hotel had a shower in the room! We wandered the street, enjoying the best Italian Ice--reminded us of Snelgroves--and had dinner in an outdoor cafe, created by simply placing tables at the end of a dead-end street. I had spaghetti. Frank had some bad chicken. And against our better judgement and the cautions we'd been given, a green salad. That would come back to haunt us, later on. Like Sorrento, Capri was a city built on cliffs but it lacked the atmosphere of Sorrento. The return to Naples was a pleasant ride, cool and damp, passing fishing boats and flying fish along the way. We walked across the city. It was a dirty place. At the train station, we were soon on our way back to Rome.
It was clear as we approached, that the train station in Rome was on fire. Heavy, billowing clouds of smoke made it difficult to tell how much of the station was in flames. We had left most of our baggage there in storage to make our travel to Sorento easier. The closer we got, the surer we were that we'd lost everything. Finally off the train and in the station, we were allowed to retrieve our smoky bags from the storage unit that had escaped the fire. With a few clean clothes, we checked the rest of our bags at an air terminal, hoping of course that there would be no danger of fire there, and caught another train to Venice that evening.
Arriving in the early morning, we hopped on a boat going to Lido Island, intending to sleep on the beach but the sun was already up and it was hot. There was also a pricey fee to get onto the beach. Finding a half-shaded park bench, we took turns sleeping. The place filled up quickly so we took a boat back to the main canal of Venice. There had been flooding and much damage done to priceless works of art--the homes and building facades--but the grandeur of the city was still reflected in much of what we saw. Like no other city, all travel was done on water. No cars, no bikes allowed. The famous gondola's had fallen victim to racket pricing--too expensive for us to consider--so we stuck to bus boats, slow but cheap. Our ride down the "Grand Canal" was...GRAND! Watching artisans blow glass was fascinating. Spaghetti and soup for lunch and window shopping. Elegant lace, hand worked tablecloths, beautiful jewelry, and much more. We sat at the Piazza San Marco Square to watch day turn to evening. Light posts in the water glittered. Buildings were all lighted at night and with an orchestra playing in a sidewalk cafe at our right, the Canals of Venice to our left it was such a lovely evening drinking in the charm of a truly different atmosphere and way of life. The pizza--nothing like what we called pizza at home--was Really good. At midnight, we took a train to Florence and from there to Pisa, just to see the Leaning Tower of. Yup, it was leaning, alright, just one of the three structures of the same building but all separated from each other, the church, itself, the dome sitting on the ground, and the tower, leaning. The question that hung in the air? "How far can it lean before it falls?"
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