June 2008 Archives

Up into the mountains we drove. Leif and his brother Lars were taking us to Storforsen, one of the largest rapids in all of Europe. Aunt Gun came along, as well as Lars' wife Helena and their daughter Julia.

Storforsen is part of the Piteå River, and the rapids themselves are frighteningly forceful, especially when seen close up. Many parts of the trail that runs alongside the water are safely behind fences. At other points there is nothing between you and close to 3000 cubic feet of water per second. It's quite a feeling to stand on a slippery rock, listening to the roar of the water, getting sprayed in the face, and wondering how long a person might expect to live if he fell in...

Just off this main trail, however, things became much quieter and more serene. You could hear yourself think again, the trees were thriving in the mist, and the lichen created beautiful patterns on the rocks.

Storforsen, literally "strong falls", drops about 270 feet over its 3 miles length, and we had explored much of it. So, we sat for a spell and watched Gun expertly slice some reindeer jerky with the Lapp knife she had just helped me buy; she was born and raised in Lappland, and had pronounced it "a good knife". Good enough for me...

A lot of sun, a lot of water, a completely memorable day.

This is our good friend and Monika's relative, Ann-Mari:

And this is Ann-Mari's family:

While gathered one fine day for her grand-daughter Linnea's confirmation, we got to talking about traditional Swedish food; especially those classics from the north: pitepalt and surströmming. We wanted to taste both of these unique dishes but our time in Pitea was running short.

In short order, Ann-Mari had organized everything; she would make the pitepalt, and Cousin Barbro and Bengt would prepare the surströmming.

We arrived at Barbro and Bengt's house on a perfect summer's day, and retired to the patio. The breeze was light, as was the mood.

First came the pitepalt. This dish, which originates in Piteå, is made with grated potatoes, a perfect balance of rye and white flour and salt pork. The ingredients are molded together into a ball roughly the size of a small automobile and gently cooked in water for nearly an hour. Put lingonberries and butter on top, pour yourself a glass of milk, and you're ready.

So, how was it? Absolutely delicious! This is comfort food on a grand scale; a pitepalt meal makes any place seem like home.

We felt fortified, and we would need the courage. Next up was the real challenge: bring on the surströmming!

Surströmming is fermented fish.

Yup, you read that right. Here's how it's made: Herring is placed in barrels of brine for a few months. Then it is packed in cans, where the anaerobic decomposition process continues for up to a year, before being sold.

At this point the pressure inside the can is so great that it bulges; many airlines even prohibit the transport of surströmming as an onboard hazard. To this end, Barbro and Bengt put the can we were to eat inside a plastic bag, as it tends to explode when opened, and you really don't want to get fermented fish juice all over yourself. The aroma is remarkable; this is food best eaten outdoors.

Here's how you eat surströmming. You put chopped raw onions and diced, cooked potatoes on a piece of thin, crispbread. After you've cut open and deboned your fish, you place it on the bread, as well.

So, how does it taste? This is an acquired taste; you either love it or you hate it. Monika braced herself...and loved it! I was, uh, ambivalent. Bengt was prepared for this reaction, however, and suggested we have plenty of aquavit on hand to help things along. My hero...

An encouraging thing is happening in the world. Old buildings are being given a second life. In Seattle, Amazon.com makes its home in a former veterans hospital, while here in Piteå, the Furunaset Mental Hospital has been converted; it is now called the Furunaset Hotel and Conference Center.

It was important to me to make the pilgrimage to this monumental, erstwhile container of suffering now transformed. Built in the 1890s, Furunaset was a closed world; patients and personnel alike were sequestered from the outside world. Watchmen in guardhouses insured against both escape and entrance (very few outsiders were allowed in). Those who attempted to gain access without prior authorization were subject to arrest and jail sentences; there must have been significant concern over what the public might see.

This gigantic facility warehoused patients from all over Sweden and Finland. Perhaps the staff did what they could to reduce suffering, but enlightened treatment and effective medications were lacking; in its time, Furunaset was undoubtedly a horrible fate for many people.

My Aunt Bojan spent many years of her life at the Furunaset Mental Hospital. In her early teens she was bright and intelligent, but severe epileptic seizures made it impossible for her family to care for her.

Like many others, Bojan was (mis)placed at Furunaset, the only long-term care facility at that time. Though she was not mentally ill when she first came to Furunaset, the place took its toll on her. Housed in close quarters with the extremely disturbed, she struggled to make meaning of the lot she had been dealt. Years of electric shock treatments and inappropriate medications made dramatic changes in her personality. The stigma of epilepsy (and of Furunaset itself) was strong in those days; some friends and family members stopped visiting and never spoke of her. The few faithful were allowed supervised visits, outside the facility, by a small garden pool.

As I sat in one of the new Furunaset's restaurants, I wondered who had sat in my place, long ago. When I walked the halls of commerce, I noted the original stone floors, complete with indentions, worn down by repetitive foot traffic.

At the nearby docks, where patients once arrived by boat from all over Sweden, children were now launching canoes. The potato fields, once tended by patients who could manage manual work, had become parking lots. Birds chirped as the sun emerged brilliant, shining on every wet surface.

A bicyclist flew by near the institution's cemetery, a final resting place to over one thousand patients. As I approached the small garden pool, I was moved by intense childhood memories: Bojan's powerful hugs, the way she held our faces as she spoke to us, the small gifts wrapped in newspaper (I still have the small ceramic shoe she gave me when I was a girl).

Days later, I was able to spend time with Inger Johannesson. A deep and lovely woman, she cared for my aunt for many years, and in the process became Bojan's truest friend.

They met when Furunaset was closed and Bojan was moved to a better care center. Less confined and with improved medications, Bojan's life began to transform. A warm and funny woman possessing ironic wit and expressing gleeful joy emerged.

Have you ever been simultaneously stunned and enlightened by someone with a distinctly different perspective? While some described Bojan's life as a tragedy, Inger knew better her inner strength, her survival skills, her determination and the tenacity of her spirit. It was Inger who felt Bojan's gratitude and witnessed her resilience. She deeply understood her joy and her heartbreak, her triumphs and her disappointments, her faith and her forgiveness. When Bojan died two years ago, it was Inger who had stayed close.

Inger shared many poignant stories with me, but I was particularly struck by this one. On their annual vacations to the shore in Skåne, they would stay in a hotel. Many times a day, Bojan would express her sheer delight that the front doors of the hotel were never locked, that she could take as many showers as she so desired, and that she could spend an entire day just smelling flowers if she wanted.

Many thanks to Ann-Mari, who accompanied me to Furunaset, and to Inger, who told me the stories I needed to hear.

-Monika

One day, I told Cousin Leif that I would like to see real reindeer, but didn't know where to go. In yet another demonstration of how many people he knows in Piteå, the next day found us on our way to the edge of town to meet Christer Sjömark, who happens to keep reindeer on his property.

Reindeer are very shy creatures, and prefer to stay away from people. This is just what Christer's reindeer did when we approached. Except this guy. "He's curious," Christer said.

As we stood in the meadow and watched the reindeer wander around (at a safe distance from us), Christer told Leif and I everything you could ever want to know about these marvelous creatures; for instance, why they look so patchy right now. It's because they're molting for the summer.

All reindeer have horns, and they fall off every year. When they do, Christer gathers them up and puts them in the barn, perhaps for later craft projects.

As he graciously invited us into his home for coffee, I noticed the knife on Christer's belt. "It's a Lapp knife," he said, pointing to the wall where he hangs his others. He then told us about the importance of these traditional tools in Lapp culture. They are made with reindeer horn and skin, and the blades are incredibly tough. The Lapps depend on them for hunting, eating, even chopping down trees.

As well, they use the knives to identify their reindeer; a unique mark is cut into the animal's ear. Christer showed us a book of drawings of such marks.

I enjoyed our time with Christer immensely; I could ask him questions all day long, and would be happy to hear his stories even longer than that. We left him where we found him, sitting on his porch with his dogs, looking happy.

Cousin Stig and his family had an idea. They wanted to take us out on their boat into the Gulf of Bothnia. We'd make a slow, relaxing day of it, and see the sights. Excellent!!

The weather not only cooperated, but it was astoundingly good. The water in the gulf appears dead-black, making it somewhat intimidating (i can only imagine it in the winter). The sun doesn't penetrate it, so the water acts as a mirror. This combination of black and blue is hypnotizing.

Ah, the glittering light, the sounds of lapping water and happy girls, the smell of the sea and the vibrations of a humming motor. We now understand why people come to love boating so much. It can, and does, transport a person directly to "the center of calm." This family needs no stuga, as they love life on the water - all summer long!

The air was warm, the breeze was light, and Stig had set a course for Hällskär, where the Lidman and Nystrom clans have made their mark, literally, for 81 years. These smooth surfaces have been the bedrock for lighthearted family picnics for generations.

What truly amazed me was to see the family record engraved in the rock, starting with Monika's grandparents - in 1927.

Here is Monika's Uncle Signar (Stig's father) carving Monika's name in 1952 - when she was just two years old.

She's been back several times over the years, and it was my pleasure to be able to add this year's date to her others, albeit with a crowbar and nail punch :)

I could see the memories on Monika's face as she sat on a rock and looked out over the water...

Ewa, Sandra and Sofia had prepared a marvelous fika feast, which went perfectly with the good cheer and laughs we were sharing.

Monika and I were so enjoying this day: the family, the weather, the food, the stories. We couldn't imagine how it could be a happier occasion, unless we all ran around in clown noses, or something...

Cousin Stig and Ewa, along with their girls Sandra and Sofia, made for us a day we will never forget. A happier family is seldom seen, and we salute you!

A cultural phenomenon we've noticed in Sweden is the stuga. Roughly translated, it means "cabin". Many such structures began as family homesteads, and were passed down through generations. As industrialization came to Sweden, and people moved to the cities, these stugas were kept as summer homes.

The Swedes have a great love of the outdoors, and these days stugas are being built all over Sweden. Cousin Janne and Aunt Elsy were kind enough to invite us out to their stuga for a relaxing day of sunshine and water.

Janne and Elsy's stugas are situated just outside Piteå, in the woods along a lake; a great place to get some sun, especially if you're a whippet in a lawn chair or a collie out for a stroll.

To our delight, Elsy had prepared an amazing salmon dinner for us inside Janne's stuga; he and Eivor's kids even drove down from Luleå for the occasion.

One feature of this particular stuga that must be great on wonderful summer nights is an outdoor sink for doing dishes. Available light isn't a problem, on account of the midnight sun and all...

After a brief soccer match with the dog, it was time for a spin around the lake in Janne's boat.

As we tooled around the various inlets and islands, it was easy to see why Janne goes to the stuga every chance he gets; he and Eivor prefer it hands-down to their apartment in town.

Monika and I left refreshed and relaxed, having enjoyed a little slice of the stuga life.

Bölebyns Garveri is a tannery in Piteå. We visited expecting to see leather goods. What we got was so much more than that.

We were greeted by Jan Sandlund, the proprietor. The business was started by his grandfather, and passed down to him, eventually. Jan was a psychologist for some 25 years. "I was in the business of healing souls," he told us. "Eventually I came back to the tannery; I started on the inside and now I'm working my way to the outside." A philospher/tanner, to be sure.

Jan took us into the tannery, where he explained to us that no chemicals have ever been used on their leather. They tan hides with birch bark and water from the Piteå River - nothing else. In fact, the water in these vats hasn't been changed since 1918, which is part of what gives the leather its special color:

The smell inside the tannery was amazing; the scent of wet birch bark was everywhere. We were amazed to find out that Bölebyns Garveri is one of only three tanneries in Europe that use only bark and water; they are the only one in the world that uses birch bark.

So, how was the leather? One thing that stood out immediately was the understatement of the goods produced. Jan and his workers take great pride in the quality of their work, and it shows. In fact, they have earned the distinction of being an official Purveyor to the King of Sweden

Jan is no mere craftsman, we learned. He often makes sculptures out of leather, like this wonderfully spooky foot:

As well, Jan and his craftsman will make anything you want out of leather. Forget that Coach wallet - if you want something truly unique, get it at Bölebyns Garveri. As for myself, I'll be designing a guitar strap when I get home...

Aside from programming events at the Badhusparken, Cousin Leif has a real passion for the history and culture of Piteå; it seemed to us like he knew everyone and everything associated with the town. So when he told us he had talked to a few people and arranged for us to see some sites, we were naturally quite excited.

The first stop was the Piteå Museum, where we were introduced to Jonas Lundmark, the museum's director. Being a small institution, Jonas doubles as the exhibition designer; we caught him in the middle of installing a new show.

The Piteå Museum displays many objects related to the history of the town, as well as exhibiting contemporary work by local artists. Among the displays that caught our attention was this model of Piteå from 1898. It fills a large room, and once I started zooming in on details, I couldn't stop.

And this must be the coolest work table I've ever seen:

Before leaving, Leif introduced us to Catharina Westling, the museum's registrar. After disappearing for a few minutes, she came back with a box of photographs of Monika's Uncle Torsten in his verkstad - the images had been exhibited alongside samples of his work. She graciously asked us if we would like to choose some to take with us; a few of these appear in my previous post on this blog.

Next up was the Studio Acusticum at the Piteå School of Music. This new auditorium was designed to be as acoustically diverse as possible. Whether the aim is live performance or recorded music, the space is made to respond.

The entire ceiling, with its hanging sound reflectors, can be lowered. The walls are made of faceted concrete, made to scatter sound vibrations.

And if the space still sounds too roomy, a series of heavy felt baffles are hidden along the walls, both upstairs and down; they can be lowered individually until the room is whisper quiet. Mostly, though, Monika and I were struck by the beauty of the place. Although it seats about 600 people, there didn't appear to be a bad seat in the house.

Our last stop was Swensbylijda, a restoration of an 18-19th century part of rural Piteå.

The town's livelihood depended on a small stream that powered an even smaller mill. We watched the water run underneath this building, and wandered throughout the other working structures and houses. While amazed at the ingenuity and enterprise of the people who lived here, we were equally sobered by the realization of just how hard life must have been.

In one fell swoop, Leif had shown us a bit of the past, present and future of Piteå. As we drove back into town, the images of what we had seen still fresh in my mind, I wondered: what next?

Monika's mother Ulla grew up in Piteå, in a small house in the Pitholm neighborhood.

photo courtesy Jenny Bohman and Pelle Boström

Also on the property was a large workshop, a verkstad. Monika's grandfather and uncles worked there, as machinists and woodworkers; they made everything from architectural models, to furniture, to artists sculptures, to boats - if you could draw it, they would make it for you. Monika's uncle Signar even invented and designed a line of wood and metal machines, such as this lathe, still in use in Cousin Tommy's verkstad in Lund:

More than a mere workshop, however, the verkstad was the center of an active social life for everyone in the neighborhood. Haircuts were given, stories were told. And there was always fresh coffee in the pot. This is where, to Monika and many others, the idea of creating where you live and living where you create first took hold.

photo courtesy Jenny Bohman and Pelle Boström

One person in particular came to be associated most closely with the spirit of the verkstad. In Monika's words:

"I come from a family of makers. The appreciation for skilled craft has influenced and shaped me more than anything. I watched many sets of sure hands shaping things before beginning my own life as a maker. But it was my Uncle Torsten Nystrom, my mother's brother, who most amazed and inspired me.

My most treasured memories took place in and around the verkstad in Piteå where he spent his entire life shaping ideas into tangible, functioning form and dramatically affecting those who were lucky enough to have known him; he was a visionary in a sawmill.

To this day, whenever I smell sawdust or linseed oil I immediately think of him, pointing out the constellations in the nighttime sky with his missing finger, or showing me how to build innovative sculptures in the woodpile.

Torsten revealed (to many) a world of expansive ideas. How deluxe to sit at the elbow of one with such humor and intelligence, while he drew tunnels under oceans and a hydrocopter to take him across ice and water!

How incredible to return to the place where it all began..."

Photo: Mats Widgren. © Piteå Museum

Cousin Bo lives next door to the verkstad, and made the introduction to Jenny and Pelle, the current owners of the property.

Jenny and Pelle graciously allowed us into the verkstad to take photos. Most of the equipment and tools now enjoy continued use in other family members' verkstads, and all the wood is gone, but the rest of the place appeared much as Torsten had left it when he took ill.

"It's as if he just stepped out, and will be back soon," Monika said. His stack of signs was even sitting by the door. Torsten kept scraps of wood handy to leave notes for anyone wondering where he went. This one says, "Today, the forest"

As we explored further, we found scores of drawings, plans and photographs of things Torsten had made. It was easy to see why the neighborhood children were so drawn to the verkstad. Here is a photo of a car Torsten made for some lucky kid:

And anyone who wanted one got a cutout animal to take home and paint. These were made for Jenny, who grew up in Piteå. She still has them in the house:

Monika has spoken with many people who both worked with Torsten and who grew up around the verkstad. Many great stories have emerged.

One woman remembers Torsten yelling to a group of children, "God in heaven, come here! I have something very exciting to show you!" When the kids came running to the verkstad, he said excitedly, "Do you know what a soccer ball is made out of?" When noone could answer, he put the ball on the band saw and cut it open so they could all look inside.

And of course, everyone remembers the hydrocopter, a vessel with a huge propeller, like the air boats used to navigate the Everglades in Florida. Torsten's ran on an old Volkswagen engine, was made out of wood and had runners on it so he could travel across the ice in winter.

Torsten has been gone for 10 years now, and the verkstad will soon come down as Jenny and Pelle make room for the new house they are building. It's nice to know, though, that his memory is safe with them and everyone else he ever knew.

Photo: Mats Widgren. © Piteå Museum

We started our stint in Piteå by getting lost; Cousin Leif had to come get us and we followed him into town.

Leif had arranged for us to stay at the Piteå Vandrarhem (wanderer's home), situated in Badhusparken (bath house park), for which he runs all the cultural programming. Conveniently, his office is also in the Vandrarhem, so we would be seeing a lot of Leif.

The vandrarhem is built in what was Piteå's first hospital. As such, the hallways are lined with medical equipment original to the building, photographs and other displays. Each room is named after a doctor who once worked there.

We settled in and took a stroll around the town before calling it a night. A very long night. It was studenten (graduation) night in Piteå. And the park was hopping all night long with drunken teens singing some sort of song that has a lot of "la la la's" in it. And it was happening right outside our window.

After a while, when we realized we wouldn't be sleeping very much, we sat outside on the front steps of the vandrarhem and watched the stumbling, singing, studenten Swedes. At one point Monika told a kid he couldn't come inside to use the restroom. "Where on earth will we urinate," he said plaintively, "if not in your wanderer's home?..." I thought I was going to wet my own pants, laughing.

The next day, after a few hours sleep, the park was once more very active. As it turns out, it was Swedish National Day, and Leif had planned all kinds of activities in Badhusparken.

Having witnessed dog agility contests firsthand, I thought I knew what was coming when a group of people set up a course in the park. The hurdles were small, so I figured only the small dogs would be competing. How wrong I was. Welcome to rabbit agility, a sport begun in the 1970s in Sweden.

Once we wrapped our heads around that one, we strolled through the crowds. There were people in traditional clothing, clowns for the kids, concession stands - even Pippi Longstocking was there.

Throughout all of this, live band after live band played to the ever-increasing audience. Finally, around 9PM or so, the headliner took the stage. Ladies and gentleman....Nordman!

Yeah, Monika and I had never heard of them, either. But they are quite famous in Sweden, the crowd went nuts, and they were very entertaining. Their latest video should give you an idea of what they do:

The next day was loppis (flea market) in the park. The paths were lined with people selling and shopping. It turns out this happens every week at the Badhusparken; there's nothing like a good loppis to get you out of bed in the morning.

Monika has stayed in touch with all of her family in Piteå; we were happy to see so many of them at the loppis, where they had gathered to welcome us to Piteå. We had fika, I was introduced all around, and Monika was beaming.

And those were our first days in Piteå.

As we continued north along the coast, the highway wound its way through valleys and fjords, any of which makes a serene place to stop for an impromptu picnic.

It's in this serene atmosphere that we were taken by surprise when we saw a giant cheese slicer in a field just off the highway

We had stumbled upon The Kingdom of Cheese, home of Ostens Lager, maker of Västerbotten Cheese, known as "the emperor of cheeses". We learned that tours were available, so we rushed to the factory, but it hadn't opened for the season yet.

Too bad - I was kinda excited to see that

We reached Luleå at a beautiful time of day, and met with Cousin Caroline and Håkon, with whom we would stay the night.

As the capital of Swedish Lapland, Luleå is primarily a university town, but its harbor is equally important as the main shipping port for iron ore mined inland. Walking along the waterfront after dinner, we learned that Luleå is home to four of Sweden's icebreaking vessels: Oden, Frej, Ymer and Atle

Each vessel runs on five V12 engines, ranging from 5000-6250 horsepower each. As well, they carry a set of 2500-watt lights - bright enough to read a newspaper from almost 7 miles away.

As the midnight sun made its dip toward the horizon, and we made our way back to Caroline and Håkon's, the light became surreal

By the time we settled down for bed, however, the sun was starting to rise again. I decided to sleep on the balcony, just to see what that would be like. Monika snapped this picture of me some time around 3AM. Something about that midnight sun fascinates me...

The next day, after sitting in the sun and enjoying a leisurely meal with Caroline, we hit the road - this time heading a little bit south. We were set to visit Cousin Iva in Skellefteå

As I've mentioned in earlier posts, fika is taken quite seriously in Sweden; it is anything but an average coffee break. Iva had been baking in anticipation of our arrival - this was truly a fika to remember

While Monika and Iva caught up, I decided to explore the town a little bit. Of course, my internal guitar radar led me to a guitar shop, where I met Salle, a proud butt-rocker (as we say in The States). Besides managing the shop, Salle has also designed his own guitar line, the flagship of which is The Lucifer. He told me that his goal was to make the most evil guitar ever. Amen to that, brother...

Continuing my walkabout, I meandered into the public square, where I grabbed a sandwich from a street vendor. Can you guess what I bought?

That's right - ham & ost (cheese)

Also, in the square was a small fountain with some public art in it. I've seen some phallic art in my time, but I don't recall anything this...uh...obvious...

As we packed the car and prepared to say goodbye to Skellefteå, we noticed that, as in cities all over Sweden this time of year, studenten was taking place here, as well. While in Stockholm the graduates ride around town in large trucks, Skellefteå students appear to prefer cages on the back of tractors.

The days were getting longer, and we were heading north again. Next stop, the home of Monika's family: Piteå!

From Gamla Uppsala we continued north, driving along the coast. When we hit Sundsvall we stopped for the night. This port city, chartered in 1621, sits at 62° north of the equator (Seattle is at 47°). What really drove home our location, though, was the view out our hotel window at 2AM

Sundsvall and fire? A little bit of a problem. The city has burned to the ground four times. After the last fire, in 1888, they decided that all buildings would be made of brick. Good idea. And lovely to look at

From Sundsvall we continued north into Sweden's Höga Kusten (High Coast), so named because the land is elevated. We entered the High Coast across the High Coast Bridge; at 6,000 feet long, it is itself a spectacular experience.

When we stopped on the far side to take pictures, we learned a little more about why the High Coast is, well, "high". Ever hear of "isostasy"? Me neither. Here's how it works:

1. Massive glaciers crush and grind and compress the land, flattening it.
2. Over tens of thousands of years, the ice melts.
3. As the ice melts, the land rises up to where it started.

Nowhere else on earth has the land risen up so far after the Ice Age as the High Coast, and it continues to rise. Walking around the hills, we could imagine the force of all that ice as we looked at the scarring on the boulders

The town of Docksta was recommended as a beautiful place to take a dip in a lake, so we headed towards it. We were not disappointed; it is quite tranquil and very relaxing.

We had covered an awful lot of ground, and needed to refuel the car. Stopping at a gas station in Örnsköldsvik, we couldn't help notice the gigantic ski jump coming down the hill and ending just a few feet from where we stood. It even goes underneath the train tracks

We had to investigate this further. I climbed onto the track, or course, or field, or whatever you call a ski jump landing area. It was covered with very thick, layered plastic; jumping up and down on it, I noticed it was very pliant. It turns out this surface is used in the summer for ski jump practice; in fact, the Swedish national team is training here for the 2010 Olympics in Vancouver, Canada

From Örnsköldsvik we pushed on and landed in Umeå for the night. This is a two-university town, with an emphasis on medicine; even the concierge at our hotel was just finishing up med school. There is a lively square in the middle of the city, where you can sit and eat a little something, whether it's korv and mashed potatos, fine baked goods, or even...ice cream

We were impressed by this, the biggest city in the province of Norrland. Even the parking garage was charming, having been painted to look like the outdoors

We packed up the car and heading to the hotel dining room where, once again, we were reminded what we like about Swedish breakfast: everything!

Next up: the drive north continues...

Each day I say to John, "Thank you for taking me to Sweden today." As memories accumulate, I see that I will continue this practice for as long as we live...

On this particular day, I felt acutely aware of this "as long as we live" sentiment. In the setting of Gamla Uppsala, the concept of time was curious, confounding and moving. The history of this place, with origins as a pagan cult center in the 3rd century A.D., can give a person pause. We are here on earth for such a very short time - only the blink of an eye in the larger scheme of things. We were struck by this thought as we stood on the same rotating/orbiting piece of land as this poignant archeological "belief" site.

The sun was strong and the scent of lilacs was everywhere. John and I walked hand-in-hand along and between a few of the massive, ancient burial mounds.

As we wound our way along a crunchy path, the sheer scale of things astounded me. These gigantic mounds engulfed and embraced us, while dwarfing the figures picnicking on their highest reaches.

Breezes lifted and scattered dandelion seeds above the flowers, and caused birch leaves to shimmer and shine through optical waves of heat.

On such a pleasant day, the harsh history of Gamla Uppsala seemed inconceivable. We looked out over a field thought to be where brutal pagan rituals occurred at nine-year intervals: one male of every living creature, including humans, was killed and hung in the trees as a scarifice to the Norse Gods Thor, Odin and Frey.

While under my feet lay deep history, all around me swirled the details of the present day. As we finished our trek, the sound of bells thundered from the church, built in the 11th century, announcing the marriage of some happy pair beginning a life together.

My shirt was damp with sweat, a busload of cranky German tourists pulled out of the parking lot, my dear mate made me laugh as he sat on a birch pole, a child dropped a pacifier in the dirt.

I closed my eyes, took a slow sip of water and smiled. In that moment in time, I felt alive, alive, alive...

In the US, gasoline prices are reaching record highs. The same is true in Sweden, although their gas has always been more expensive than ours. Headlines abound: "Gasoline will cost even more this summer"

Maybe the cost disparity has to do with the quality of the roads. Monika and I have noticed with wonder just how good the highways are in Sweden. Given the very, very remote places the roads lead, this is especially remarkable.

No matter how far afield we've driven, the roads are smooth and the signage is clear; in fact, the quality of the signs in Sweden makes it very difficult to get lost (once you figure out what the signs actually mean, of course)

We've rented two cars so far, both of them manual transmission. I'd like to say that this is because I know that manual cars are more efficient, or that I'm a super-badass stick driver, or something. Sadly, neither of these is the case. It seems that the majority of rental cars in Sweden are manual. Fine by Monika and I; we do well enough

As for gas, here's the breakdown in Sweden. I'll spare you the anguish of converting from liters to gallons, Swedish crowns to dollars. Simple math, I know, but my head still hurts.

Regular gas works out to about $8.70 per gallon in Sweden. Still feel bad about driving to the beach this weekend?...

Fortunately for us, we learned something very interesting when we rented our second car. Some vehicles can take E85 (Ethanol) fuel as well as regular gas. Not only that, but E85-capable cars are exempt from many municipal road tolls, like those across some of the bridges in Stockholm.

The cost of E85? $5.23 per gallon. Much better than the cost of regular, especially if you plan to drive the whole length of Sweden...

Our last full day in Stockholm was spent further exploring the neighborhood our hotel was in, Södermalm.

Södermalm is a relaxed, laid back area, with lots of quirky little shops and coffee houses. We enjoyed winding our way through the streets and taking in the artsy vibe of the neighborhood

Even the corner shops had a unique quality that we enjoyed photographing

Then it happened. We stumbled upon Twang, a vintage guitar shop. Jörgen Wickholm is the owner, and he is a great guy. He graciously spent time with me, answering my questions about the difference between the vintage guitar markets in the US and Sweden. His shop is small, but it has great character, and the variety of guitars is choice.

Monika has been in an awful lot of small guitar shops with me, so she is very used to their character. But she was extra impressed with Twang's bathroom. "That must be the cleanest bathroom I've ever seen in a guitar shop!" she told Jörgen. "You're lucky," he replied, "we just cleaned it today." We all laughed, as he went on to joke that they clean the restroom every few weeks, whether it needs it or not. At least, I think he was joking...

Before going on our way, I gave Jörgen a rock sticker, which he stuck on the wall near the front window. Excellent...

We ambled along some more side streets, with only a general sense of where we wanted to go. We examined this mail carrier's bike for a few minutes, and took a few pictures. Question: how do you know you're a tourist in Stockholm? Answer: you're the only one who looks twice at a mail carrier's bicycle

Monika decided to poke around on her own for a few minutes while I looked into another guitar shop. Halkan's is the oldest vintage guitar shop in Stockholm, and their walls were packed with guitars. They also have a thriving repair business; the guys in the shop didn't stop working the whole time I spoke with them

One of these guys, Jan Hallquisth, told me something interesting. He said that vintage guitars may actually be easier to find in Sweden than many other European countries, as it was a relatively rich nation after WWII and could perhaps better afford things like American guitars. He then pointed me around the corner to Hellstone Music, and continued working on a guitar.

Sven Hellsten is the proprietor of Hellstone Music, and he and I enjoyed a great conversation. Sven is very friendly; here he is with a rock sticker, which he then stuck on his back wall, which is made of sparkly green vinyl

Before hooking back up with Monika, I went up the street to the last guitar shop I was to see in Stockholm

I don't recall the name of the shop, but it is owned by The Cardigans Peter Svensson & The Hives Vigilante Carlstroem. I had a great talk with Andre, who was behind the counter, and he was kind enough to give me one of his CDs

By this time, the shadows were getting longer, so we headed back to the hotel to gather our things and head out. But not before we noticed these little creatures sitting in the shade

And with their glowing eyes still fresh in our minds, we moved on.

Next up, the land of the midnight sun...

This is Cousin Hannes. He has just graduated from high school ("gymnasium") in Nacka, a suburb of Stockholm. I was pleased to attend. Here's how a Swedish high school graduation ("studenten") works:

First, all the families gather in a massive common area. Each group sports a sign with a photo of their graduate as a child. The graduate does not usually know what photo their family has chosen.

I am with Cousin Bitte and Per, who are Hannes' parents. Per eagerly awaits his son

Swedish high schools are divided into classes, each class having specialized in a subject. There are all the subjects you might expect, like science, art, math. As well, there are vocational studies. Each class runs onto an elevated stage, where they jump up and down, scream, sing, shout and wave to the assembled crowd for about a minute.

No speeches, no diplomas, no teachers shaking hands. The class leaves the stage and makes their way through the crowd to their families, as the next class takes the stage. about 30 classes in 30 minutes, and it's over.

It's a proud day for Cousin Bitte, Per and sister Felicia

Moster Gerd is especially happy to have been here for her grandson's studenten

The hat each graduate wears is the equivalent of a mortarboard in the US; it is embroidered with their name and their class. Class mates will also write inside each other's hats. Cousin Tommy, up from Lund for the occasion, wore his cap from his college days; his daughter Caroline, down from Luleå, wore hers, as well.

Next, the graduates move to an enormous parking lot, where they have rented heavy-duty industrial trucks to drive through the streets of Stockholm, while they spray each other with beer, dance, shout, whoop, holler and - you get the picture.

Back at Bitte and Per's house, a large group of family and well-wishers has assembled and the champagne glasses are ready. So, we ate and drank and visited for a while.

Soon enough, and in a fresh black suit, the man of the hour showed up. A good day with great people. Congratulations, Hannes!

Djurgården is another one of Stockholm's neighborhoods. A short walk across a scenic bridge gets you to this small island on which sits an assortment of museums, parks and zoos.

We had come to see the Vasa Museum, in which is housed The Vasa, a Swedish warship from 1628 that sank in the harbor on its maiden voyage. It was raised in the 1960s, repaired and put on display. Here is a model of the ship as it would have looked, with the actual ship looming behind it

The Vasa was amazingly intact when it was raised from the harbor, because of a combination of the cold water in the harbor and the historically polluted condition of the water, which prevented the growth of bacteria that would have destroyed the wood.

Once conservation began, the ship's wood was sprayed with polyethylene glycol for 17 years, and allowed to dry for 9. This is what gives the ship its waxy look.

When The Vasa was built, the intention was for it to be the most fearsome, intimidating warship on the seas. To this end, the entire ship was ornamented with incredibly detailed carvings, all of which would have originally been painted in bright colors

Experts were brought in to oversee every aspect of The Vasa's historical restoration. Most impressive was the rigging, which is very complicated, and was done with handmade hemp rope

Despite shipbuilding conventions of the time, King Gustavus Adolphus insisted on two gun decks and twice the number of cannon than was practical. The Vasa did not have room for enough ballast to counter the top-heaviness these cannon gave it; the ship simply could not stay upright, and toppled in a light breeze in the harbor. None of the king's men had the courage to warn him against this engineering mistake. Maybe this is why an offical inquest ultimately placed no blame on anyone...

Several people went down with the ship, and their bodies were recovered when the vessel was raised. From these persons, the museum was able to determine more about Swedish life in the 17th century. Clothing and shoes were found intact, board games, even some butter remained.

What made quite an impression on Monika and I, however, was the osteological work done by the museum. Based on measurements taken from skulls found in the ship, several faces were reconstructed. Clues gathered by analyzing the entire skeleton provided information about age, gender and diet. The results were startlingly life-like

Before we knew it, half a day had gone by. Truly, The Vasa Museum was fascinating. Make sure to look at their website to read more about The Vasa, including the incredible work that was done to get her out of the water after more than 300 years.

We took Stockholm's subway, the T-Bana, into the city's center. This area is called "City". Go figure. All buses, trains, light rail and subway lines go to City, and converge at Centralen. This is perhaps the most dense area in all of Stockholm.

While most of City is perfectly picturesque, we found Centralen to be a shopping mall on steroids. There were shopping malls across the street from shopping malls. In fact, entire blocks were filled with nothing but malls and department stores. So, we went into Nordiska Kompaniet, one of the oldest department stores in Stockholm. And what did I do? I bought a new suit. I guess I was hypnotized by the trendy Euro-styling, or something. Anyway, Christopher at Tiger of Sweden was very helpful; he got me all set up. Now I can retire my worn out black suit at home.

Once you leave the shopping hell of Centralen, there are lots of quieter little side streets to walk down and squares to sit in. And of course there is plenty of sculpture to look at, although it does seem that some Stockholm citizens take a more whimsical view of their historical figures:

Monika and I quite enjoyed winding our way through these streets, taking note of the small things that make up the character of any city one visits.

For lunch, we found Östermalms Saluhall, an indoor market built in 1888. What an amazing place to buy a sandwich!

And if you like baked goods, some of the best you'll find are at the Saluhall

After lunch, we continued to walk City, impressed as ever by the sculpture and the architecture

Of course, by this time fika was upon us, and we wanted to try one of the fancier places. We found the Wienerkonditoriet, and were not disappointed. Coffee in a glass did seem a little strange, however...

After fika, we wound our way back to Centralen, where we caught a train back to Södermalm and our hotel.

Stay tuned...