I arrived at Stockholm's Arlanda Airport right on time. The airport is modern one and handles about half of Sweden's air traffic. From there I caught a bus to Stockholm's main railroad station. They're building a new rail line connecting the airport and station, so traffic was kind of a mess. Riding into the city I had a vague impression of a lot of rather dreary looking pine trees and a lot of granite. It was cold, around freezing, but sunny and clear.
At the station I had a two hour wait for a train to Linkoping, so I used the time to purchase a seat reservation, explore the station that I would return to later, and people watch. People watching is always fun and the people who move through a railroad station are always interesting. I loaded my stuff on the train and settled in for the two hour plus ride down to Linkoping.
The route passed through some of the major towns in the Swedish heartland: old towns with proud heritages. Many of them were medieval "fair" towns which is where the "oping" part of their name comes from. We passed through Nykoping, and Norrkoping before reaching Linkoping (prounced Lynn-chir-ping and meaning "linen" fair town), my first stop.
I had picked Linkoping for my first stop because I didn't want to stay in Stockholm my first night in Sweden, because it was the home of the Swedish Air Force Museum, a "must see" on my list of places to visit, and because it seemed a good example of a mid-sized Swedish town with both old and new elements. It was a good choice.
I had made no reservations at a hotel or hostel in Linkoping, figuring something would be available on a Tuesday night. I took a cab from the station to the local Best Western Hotel and it was at that point that my back; which had been perfectly behaved during my travels; decided to start giving me fits. The Hotel looked fine but I decided I didn't want to spend any more time or money in Best Western hotels than I was already in for. The lady at the tourist info desk in the Hotel suggested a hostel only two blocks away and that is where I went. There are two chains of privately owned hostels in Sweden and this hostel was one of the better ones. I paid a fairly high price (about $55) for a hotel level of service that included breakfast, etc., but it was still less than half of what the Best Western wanted for a roughly equivalent room. The hostel room had a mini-kitchen-in-a-cabinet, its own bath, television, phone, etc. I thought it good value for the money.
By now I had been on the road for 23 hours. I was in pain and tired, so I took a couple of pain killers and went to bed. I didn't sleep well, but I did get some rest.
I woke early the next morning and pulled back the curtain. To my surprise it was snowing outside! This was the first time in years I had actually been in a real snowfall. It seemed very gentle, very quiet, and very pretty. I didn't know that this same storm was pounding Norway and nine Norwegians had died in snow-related traffic accidents. From where I stood it all seemed very nice, very Scandinavian. While I made my morning toilet I turned on the radio. I was listening and not understanding a word of rapid-fire Swedish when, to my surprise, I heard "San Diego" clear as a bell and then lots more Swedish. I wondered if "San Diego" meant something in Swedish. Little did I know that with me gone for barely a day, San Diego had managed to grab the world's news headlines with another bizarre local happening. It wasn't until three days later at the Con that I first learned of the multiple suicides at home.
By the time I had breakfast and got outside it had stopped snowing. However, the central part of the city was still covered in a pristine white covering. After a quick stop at the Dom, Cathedral, I walked over to the center of town and caught a bus out to the Air Force Museum; about 10 miles outside of the city. Everyone along the way was very helpful in giving directions and advice, although you could see they were astonished to see somebody from Southern California wandering around the boonies of Sweden.
I got to the Museum two hours before it opened --- a not uncommon situation in Sweden during the winter when most museums keep very limited hours. It was cold and dreary, but it didn't look like it was going to snow again. As I stood contemplating the sign telling me the Museum's hours I felt the earth begin to shake beneath me and heard a great roaring sound. I hadn't realized that the Museum was immediately adjacent to a local air force base, and when I say immediate I'm not kidding. As I glaced up I could see two Gripen fighters taking off right over my head, no more than 50 meters above me. Well, that woke me up! With some time to kill I went exploring along the perimeter fence of the base. I figured it was better to keep moving than stand there and freeze for the next two hours. Dressed in my overcoat, scraf, fedora, and dark glasses I probably did look a bit like a spy, and the guard at the guardshack at the gate gave me a long, hard look as I wandered by his station. But I just kept walking, no realizing that I had managed to get onto the base and into its officers' housing area.
As I was wandering down a side street between rows of look-alike military housing, a small white car pulled up alongside me. Inside it, looking much too large for the small car, was a middle-aged felllow in a green camoflage suit, a red baret, and wearing some gold on his shoulders. He stared at me. Not knowing what else to do I smiled, tossed him a half-salute and stood there. He rolled down the window on the passenger side of the car. I grinned and said in my best English, "Hi! I'm an American." He looked kind of stunned, but I didn't see any Uzi appear. I explained to him what I was doing there and why I had come to Linkoping. That seemed to satisfy him. Well, to make a long story short; the new commanding officer of the local helicopter unit; which is who he was; and I went off and had a pizza, talked shop about airbases being shared by aircraft and helicopters (a common worldwide experience in the age of down-sized military budgets); and waited for the Museum to open. About noontime he offered me a ride over to the Museum which I gladly accepted. He took me right to the door, saw me inside, exchanged a few words with the Museum director (perhaps telling him to keep an eye on this Ami spy?), and said good-by.
I spent the next three hours in that Museum. For me that's a long time to spend in any Museum. This is a young museum, even among museums devoted to aircraft. It is fairly specialized, with mostly Swedish built or used military aircraft displayed in two large, connected halls in rows down the side and middle. Most of the exhibits are pretty static, but you do get a good look at the planes in good light. Outside the building were a dozen or so other planes of various sizes and types which in good weather would be an attraction for any kid.
Obviously, due to Sweden's limited combat experience during the air age there weren't a lot of combat historical displays. I did note two: one on the Swedish air forces that fought in Finland alongside the Nazis and against the Russians; and one on the Swedish squadron that went to Katanga in the early 1960s after Dag Hammarskjold was killed.
The underlying and unstated theme of the whole Museum was Sweden's determination to do what was necessary to defend itself against any attackers.
Although not a worldclass air museum in the same league as the San Diego Aerospace Museum, the Air Force Museum in Linkoping is definitely worth a trip if you like airplanes.
It was only a fifteen minute bus ride back to town, so I had the late afternoon to explore. One nice thing about these small towns is that you can see just about everything in a very short distance and limited amount of time. One thing I have learned in my travels is that as a traveller you have to work at getting to meet the locals outside the tourist industry if you want to get a real feel for the area you are in. I always try to do at least one walk-about in each.
In the space of a few hours I checked out the local Gamla Stan, "Old town" park; mostly closed up and not very attractive with its beds of just planned and newly frozen flowers; the city's very nice 1,800 seat concert and exhibition hall, somewhere between a Art Garfunkel concert and a performance of Verdi's Requiem; a travel agency, no $513 airfares to San Diego I'm afraid; a Scandinavian furniture store, seventy-five percent of Swedes do have Scandinavian furniture; the local MacDonald's, it's good and cheap according to the students and such.
I had been on my feet for about eight hours and I was getting tired. I was just down the street from the Dom, Linkoping's Cathedral and one of the more important churches in the country. Needing a rest, I plopped down on the widow sill of a building and gave my feet a rest. While I was leaning there I noticed the building across the street. Behind a combination brick and iron fence, was a rather large, two story building, very nicely designed that obviously dated from the 1700s or early 1800s. It had no signs on it and I saw no one coming or going from either of the two large doors at either end. What I did notice was that in every window I could see the back side of a computer monitor! I wondered. Finally, I couldn't stand it any more. My curiousity got the best of me. I opened up the gate, walked up to the door on the left and tried to open it. Naturally, it didn't. At that moment the other door, perhaps 150 feet away, opened and I saw a woman's face peak out, around the door, at me. I smiled and started walking that way. She stepped out of the door. To my surprise she was wearing somekind of clerical uniform with a very nice looking Gucci type scrarf around her neck.
I told her of my curiousity about the building and she laughed. She told me that it was the local bishop's palace and dated from 1734. She invited me inside, gave me a tour of some of the rooms, showed me the old town library (a round building with windows) that had been converted into offices, including hers, and generally answered my questions. Again, you could see the question behind her eyes, "What is he doing here in Winter?" Finally, at a loss for what to do with me, she asked if I would like to meet the bishop. Naturally, and probably to her surprise, I said sure. So she got on the phone, chattered away in Swedish while keeping an eye on me, and finally hung up. "I was in luck," she said, "The bishop can see you." So, up to the bishop's office we went. He looked at me when I walked in the door with a look that plainly said, "What is he doing here in Winter?" I again explained my reasons for visiting his town. He seemed interested and answered a few questions about the Dom, the role of the church in Sweden (more a welfare then spiritual agency I think) before I found myself back out on the street, my curiousity satisfied.
A bit later I stopped in St. Lar's the town parish church, I assume, and chatted with the vicar. He answered the same questions as the bishop, but this time I got some rather different answers. One thing he pointed out when I commented on the fact that I had seen musical programs being rehersed for the coming Easter celebration at both the Dom and in his church, was that it is very difficult to get people into church for a service in Sweden, but they pack them in for "concerts" of all types. Hence the large number of concerts and small number of services.
Hummm...
That night I had my first real hot meal in three days. Chinese food, of all things. It was very good, although the waiter couldn't make heads or tails of my Mandarin. Maybe it needed a Swedish accent for him to understand it.
Back to WDC VII
On to Goteborg
|
Larry Peery (peery@ix.netcom.com) |
If you wish to e-mail feedback on this article to the author,
click on the letter above. If that does not work, feel free to use the
"Dear DP..." mail interface.