Thursday was a travel day for me, from Linkoping to Goteborg. It was supposed to be a three hour or so trip by train. However, it wasn't an easy one. First, there was the fact that it was Easter week in Sweden and a lot of people were on holidays, especially people out to get in a last ski trip before the season ended, and students going to and from home. Second, there was no direct train from Linkoping to Goteborg. I ended up taking the train back to Norrkoping, waiting there for a while, and then taking a train down between Lakes Vanern and Vattern to Goteborg stops at various towns along the way. Just outside the city the train came to a halt for no apparent reason. We sat, for a half-hour or so, looking outside. From one side you could look over a fjord or river, or something and watch the whitecaps roll up against the train; that's how close we were to the water. On the other side you could look out and see a vast wrecking yard filled with old cars! A strange combination of natural beauty and manmade ugliness.
The train ride into Goteborg is not particularly attractive. In fact it's downright ugly.
The station wasn't nearly as large as the one in Stockholm, but was considerably larger than the others I had seen. I unloaded my stuff from the train, found a luggage cart, and proceeded to make a grand circuit of the station looking for a taxi. If I had just turned left at the end of the track, I would have seen them. By the time I got back there was only one taxi left at the rack. It was a large, stretch Volvo, complete with Turkish carpets on the back floor and a driver who admitted to speaking only a "little Swedish," and for once he wasn't kidding. I had no idea where the hostel we were supposed to go to was located, and neither did he. The directions and maps I had were worthless. Fortunately, I did have a large-scale map that showed the street the hostel was on, although that had nothing to do with the directions I had. Gambling, I told the driver with as much assurance as I could muster to head for the Mast-hugger-gasser-strasser. I figured if I said it fast enough with some conviction it would convince him that I knew where I was going. Well, he headed away from the station. I spotted a few landmarks I had seen in books or on maps, including the opera house and some ferry boats. All of a sudden he m= ade a wild left turn, u-turn, and half-loop that would have done a stunt pilot proud. Before I knew it he had the taxi stopped, my stuff unloaded, a fare collected and was gone. I had no idea of where I was.
I looked around and saw the YHI sign on the side of a building, but this wasn't just any building. The Swedes like to combine different purposes in multi-building complexes, so you can have offices, shops, housing, etc. all in a series of multi-level, multi-directional buildings. They're very nice, once you figure them out, but the first-time can be a real experience. Ignoring the hisse (elevator) I walked up three flights of stairs three times with all my stuff while various locals just stared. Then it was another long walk around several buildings to the hostel entrance. That, of course, was securely locked and the sign plainly said, Hrs 0700-0900 and 1700-1900, or some such. I was several hours from the 1700 opening hour. I gathered my stuff and debated whether to sit around and wait in the chilly wind blowing off the bay, or head for a warmer watering hole. Fortunately, at that moment the resident manager, a delightful woman who was a real pro at her job, showed up, let me in, and attempted to explain to me what was going on. A difficult feat since even she admitted she hadn't gotten much information from the event organizers (e.g. names, arrival times, room assignments, etc.). I learned quickly that the 125 SK per night rate for a single room that I had confirmed three times with the organizers was non-existent. On top of what the Swedes were paying it cost me another 440 SK for the four nights. After much switching around I ended up sharing a room with Per Westling, the only Swede staying at the hostel; a much better arrangement than sharing a room with any of the other Americans, the French, or the Belgians, who were also staying at the hostel. Since the hostel had a no-drinking, no smoking rule; the Brits were staying at a hotel where they could drink and smoke to their hearts' content.
I had unknowingly been spoiled by the hostel in Linkoping. The one in Goteborg was more typical of a true Swedish hostel. In a word it was spartan. Each room had from 2 -4 beds, a desk, and not much else. These were upstairs along with a dizzing array of small rooms containing various toilets, wash basins, showers, and handicapped facilities. It was impossible, unless you were handicapped, to do everything you needed to do in one room. I decided, quickly, that my age and physical condition put me into the handicapped category. Downstairs were a reception area, eating room, kitchen, and lounge with television. Again, spartan, but everything worked and everything was clean, and the lady in charge had the patience of Job and the wisdom of Solomon.
Naturally, the first person I ran into was Edi Birsan. That's always a bad sign. He told me his horror story of travel and arrival. By now it was approaching the Thursday afternoon opening time for the Con. Neither one of us had much idea of where we were going but we decided to walk to the site. What was supposed to be 100 to 300 meters, depending on who you believed, turned out to be more like 4-5 kilometers. It was a good hour's hike. Even when we found the site, we still had to find the right building (there were three large ones to pick from) and the right room. The WDC was being held in the smallest building, farthest from the registration area, on the top floor of a three or four floor building with no working elevator. Actually it wasn't that bad once you got used to it.
The school was a large one, more of a junior college/technical school, than a regular high school or college. The campus was situated on top of a hill (lots of hills in Goteborg) near the main avenue. The buildings looked turn-of-the-century and probably were. The event has being held in a large hall with a stage, and several adjacent classrooms. For once there was plenty of room for the tables, chairs and players.
A number of people were already milling around and hellos were exchanged with a variety of people I had met at other events or knew from the WWPDC event. We had no sooner got there then Edi started making noises about getting something to eat. Then he would start telling some new victim his horror travel story and forget about eating. After several hours of this I decided to give up on him and head for the hostel.
Without a clue as to where I was headed I started off. After an hour I knew I was lost. I finally stopped in the local equivalent to a AM PM and discovered I had gone in the right general direction, but not far enough, although it seemed I had walked half-way to Copenhagen and, one sign, confirmed that fact! I again stopped to seek directions. Unfortunately, I picked what turned out to be a psychatric hospital to seek guidance. The guard in the lobby looked stunned at seeing some crazy man in a long coat and hat trying to break into his lobby at 2300 on a cold, windy night. He reached, whether for the door lock, a phone or gun I don't know, and I took off. Finally, I stopped on a corner under a street lamp to look at my map, something I had done several times before with no results. As I opened the map a gust of wind blew off the bay, grabbed my hat, and took it off my head and under a deck. I debated crawling under the deck after the hat, but decided to let it go. Fortunately, when I looked up I realized I was on the corner across from the hostel. As I came around the corner, there was Edi sitting in a restaurant stuffing his face! I mouthed a few choice expletives at him and went upstairs to bed!
The next morning, against my better judgment, I decided to walk over to the Con site with Edi. Once again he charged off. About half-way there he was accosted by what I can only describe as a prostitute, although I don't think that Edi realized that that is what she was. She asked for directions somewhere and he tried to give them to her. All very amusing. I was a block down the street by the time he caught up with me.
We arrived just as the first round was about to begin. Once again there was a large number of people milling about. Many faces I recognized. Many more I did not. There were no name tags and no flags to help tell who was who.
Back to WDC VII
On to the Convention
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Larry Peery (peery@ix.netcom.com) |
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