ACROSS THE OCEAN AND ACROSS THE COUNTRY
The Intermixed Travelogues of a Monkey, September/October 2001


SEPTEMBER 3 - Mitchell Airport, Milwaukee

I pull into the parking garage, lock up the car, and lug my bag toward the
terminal. I'm not quite sure what the weather will be like in Sweden, but
I'm ready for anything from sunny days to snow. I'll be checking the bag
anyway, so it doesn't really matter how heavy it is.

SEPTEMBER 27 - Madison, Wisconsin (0 miles)

We haven't left town yet, and we're already running late. It's nobody's
fault, really: packing up the truck took a bit longer than planned, but we
still could have made it out of town with time for plenty of
progress...until it came time to go back to U-Haul to hook up a trailer for
Jon's car.
	"Looks kinda heavy," says the guy at the shop, and suggests we go
across the street to the recycling center and use the truck scale. Driving
the 17-foot truck directly across four busy lanes of traffic is a bit
daunting, but I brave the task while Jon starts to deal with the trailer.
	Pulling up onto the truck scale just as the recycling center just as
they prepare to close the gates, I jump out and read the label on the side
of truck: 'LIMIT 11,000 LBS. GROSS'. Then I look over at the digital readout
on the side of the building: 14568.
	I take the truck back across the street and deliver the bad news.
The garage is closing, so there's no time to come back for the trailer.
Instead we hook up the car and trailer, then return to Jon's house and spend
a couple hours unloading two tons of books and comics that will have to go
down to Jon's parents in Burlington for storage.

SEPTEMBER 3 - Above the Atlantic

Milwaukee to O'Hare was a short flight, and now I'm en route to Sweden. I'm
on SAS, and it's the nicest flight I've taken outside of Midwest Express.
Good food, I brought a good book (Ted Gup's "The Book of Honor"), and though
the plane is crowded I'm even lucky enough to have an empty seat next to me.

	I won't go as far as to call it 'lucky', but it's at least
convenient that I haven't seen either of the two in-flight movies, "A
Knight's Tale" and "Dr. Doolittle 2". Between the movies, the book, the
occasional nap and my Rio Volt (able to play 10 hours worth of MP3 music
from a single CD), I'm occupied until the overhead monitors show we're
nearing Arlanda.

SEPTEMBER 27 - La Crosse, Wisconsin (161 miles)

We made a quick stop at a gas station and a Taco Bell in Tomah, but it's
here that we decide to stop for the night. It's 11:30, and there's no point
in burning ourselves out on the first leg of the trip. The AAA guidebook
lists a Hampton Inn that offers a discount, so that's where we crash. Uh,
sleep.
	We're up by 8:30, pack up, partake of the free breakfast, stop by a
nearby Woodman's grocery store so I can mail off a birthday card to my mom,
and then we hit the road.

SEPTEMBER 4 - Arlanda International Airport, Sweden

Stockholm's International Airport seems a bit run-down-until I notice that
the ads above the baggage claim are actually huge flat-panel plasmascreen
monitors. Apparently they're just selective about their improvements. I
approve.
	One row away from me on the flight were two women who got
increasingly drunk-and increasingly loud-as the flight wore on. Headphones
drowned out most of their prattle, but I suffer ten more minutes before my
suitcase comes down the conveyor belt. Apparently the Swedish government
doesn't give a rat's ass what I bring into their country, as with no customs
hassle whatsoever I walk out into the main terminal, where John is waiting.

SEPTEMBER 27 - Blue Earth, Minnesota (333 miles)

I'd like to say that it was the fifty-foot tall statue of the Jolly Green
Giant that made us get off the highway, but we just decided to stop for gas
and snacks. 
	The gas station used to have a Taco Bell Express, but it has gone
out of business-recently, apparently. As I stand waiting to get into the
restroom, two couples who are part of Tom Brokaw's Greatest Generation
enter. The woman in the lead walks up to the darkened corner and says,
"What? No tacos?" For some reason it strikes me as odd; I guess I'm just
accustomed to the preteens overrunning the Taco Bells in Madison.

SEPTEMBER 4 - Sodermalm, Stockholm

Kasab and I rode the bus into the city and dropped my bags off at the
apartment he and Lisa moved into only the weekend before. Now, in an effort
to stave off jetlag, John has taken me over to see their old apartment.
They're both nice places, but the old apartment building gets bonus points
for its claustrophobic elevator. It has a mirror, a neat little fold-down
seat--and no door. Instead each floor has a metal swinging door, which
apparently lock as the elevator moves between floors. If you're not resting
in the seat or admiring yourself in the mirror, you can reach out and trail
your hand along the wall of the elevator shaft. John reports that the
experience is missing it's typical smell of urine, but as it is currently
absent the elevator goes onto my mental list of Great Swedish Achievements.
	Stockholm is built on and around a series of islands, and we take a
lengthy walk around this one, Sodermalm. Making our way to the southern
shore, John shows me dozens of tiny cabins built on the hill leading down to
the water. None larger than ten by fifteen feet, they're still pretty cool.
	Our wandering route through the city takes us along the water, back
through the city, and ever upward until we're standing atop the highest
point on the island, a rocky hill on the edge of a park high above the city.
There's a terrific view, and John points out a bunch of places I might be
interested in visiting over the next few days. Then we make our way back
down through a neighborhood of old, preserved homes and apartment blocks
undergoing renovations to have a late lunch at a great little bar called the
Blu Doren.


SEPTEMBER 27 - Mitchell, South Dakota (521 miles)

Stopping for gas again, we also stop for lunch, grabbing sandwiches at
Subway and then making our way through a maze of surface-street construction
to the world famous Mitchell Corn Palace. The last time I was here was a
quarter-century ago, and while the Palace is pretty neat, my
picture-augmented memory held it up as much neater. I don't remember it
being in the middle of downtown, for one thing; I guess I always thought it
was a building out in the middle of the fields. And the colors are much more
subdued-the pictures I've seen were taken in 1976, and I guess they fancied
it up for the Bicentennial. This year's themes are pretty straight-forward
nature themes done in straight-forward corn colors. Jon and I do find a
display across the street showing how the decoration is done, and I do have
to respect the process. It seems like an awful lot of work, beginning with
laying out the design on the building and cutting a whole hell of a lot of
corn cobs in half in preparation for mounting them.
	Though downtown Mitchell seems to get a lot of its income from
tourists, most of the other tourist shops are closed down for the season and
there's not much else to see. So after a quick picture of Jon in front of
the Corn Palace, and a seemingly interminable wait at a train crossing,
we're back on I-90 and headed west.


SEPTEMBER 4 - Norrmalm, Stockholm
	There's a bit more wandering, but jet lag is finally catching up
with me. We take the train back up to John and Lisa's apartment, and once
Lisa comes home and we have a quick dinner, jump back onto the train and go
downtown again to see the National Museum. It has a fantastic collection of
classical art, a great exhibit on Swedish design (including a neat dresser
that I believe John would make off with if his pockets were larger and the
guards inattentive), and an interesting temporary exhibit on
woodblock-printed art. No Gustave Dore prints, unfortunately, but still a
lot of neat stuff. Certain that my memory will be exhaustion-impaired, I buy
a lot of postcards in the gift shop. Then we make our way back home, and I
collapse onto the couch. I think John and Lisa continue unpacking; I sleep.

SEPTEMBER 27 - Kadoka, South Dakota (705 miles)

Only two things are amusing about our stop in Kadoka. One: Jon makes a
series of funny jokes about people who were too dumb to spell the name of
their own state right, and end up naming their town Kadoka. Two: At the gas
station, I wait in line to buy my Diet Coke behind a group of guys loudly
planning that evening's visit to a strip club. I'm not quite certain they
ever caught on that I was laughing at them and not with them.
	(Okay, now that time has passed, I'm not certain that either of
those items are amusing in retrospect. But then, we were back on the road
within fifteen minutes-it didn't leave much time to be amused, and I have to
take my amusement where I can get it.)

SEPTEMBER 5 - Gamla Stan, Stockholm

Jetlag seems to have reset my internal clock, because I had no problem
getting up early in the morning when John set off for work. I make use of
the mounted-on-the-wall shower (actually not as bad as it sounds) and then
go down to the nearby subway stop and jaunt down to Gamla Stan.
	Gamla Stan is the oldest part of Stockholm, home to the Royal
Palace, the national church, the kind of narrow streets that Americans think
make up all of Europe, and more shops and restaurants than you can shake a
stick at. Unfortunately, nothing seems like it's going to open before ten so
I have a couple hours to wander around. Actually, it's kind of nice to have
the streets to myself, and though it's a bit cloudy I take a few pictures.
The only people moving around are tour groups from cruise ships docked at
their nearby terminals in Sodermalm, and finally I find a Norwegian Tour
Lines group being led around by an English-speaking tour guide. I use my
chameleon-like skills to blend into the senior citizens and get a bit of
historical background on the island and the city for a while.
	I drop away from the tour group when my Spidey-sense goes off-I've
located a comic shop. I scope out the dark, little shop, and decide to come
back later. Pushing on to the end of the street, I make a right, walk a
hundred yards, and find another comic shop. Between the more-inviting shop
and seeming destiny, I go inside this time. Ten minutes later, I end come
out with some Swedish translations of some American comics ("Spindle-Man!").
Luckily, destiny isn't very pricey.
	By this time, things have started to open. Going just slightly off
Gamla Stan, I make my way to the next island north and the Museum of
Medieval Stockholm, which both guidebooks and John recommended heartily. The
Museum is underground, directly in front of the Swedish parliament.
Apparently they were doing some digging for renovations and stumbled across
a piece of the old city wall. Instead of digging it up and moving it
elsewhere, they left it in place and built a great museum around it. It's a
very un-American approach, and I like it a lot. There's enough signage in
English that I have a great time and learn quite a bit.
	While walking back onto Gamla Stan, I realize that I haven't spoken
a word of English since leaving John's apartment; the bit of Swedish I
picked up in the weeks prior to the trip served me well in buying comics and
museum tickets. I decide to see if I can take it through the entire day. But
the big challenge awaits as I begin to get hungry. Settling on a corner café
near the south end of the island, I go inside and puzzle out the menu until
I'm sure what I want-and relatively certain of the pronunciation. While I
do, a couple comes in and quickly reveals themselves as the archetypical
Ugly Americans. Though the Swedish girl behind the counter works very hard
to help them, they keep pushing and pushing with inane questions ("What KIND
of broccoli is in the Cream of Broccoli soup?") until she can't answer. By
the time my turn to order comes around, I'd really rather that nobody in the
vicinity knew I was American and plunge into my semi-prepared Swedish. 
	The order has many strange turns, as first they are out of meat
lasagna and I piece together the word for 'vegetarian'. Even stranger, I'm
required to piece together 'vegetarian' not in Swedish but German;
apparently my three semesters of German classes in college pays off as a
heavy German accent when attempting Swedish, and the girl behind the counter
is kind enough to switch from Swedish to German. (For those keeping score at
home, Languages Seth Speaks Fluently: 1; Languages Swedish Counter-Girl
Speaks Fluently: 3.) But I manage to make it through the entire transaction
with nary a word of English, and enjoy my lunch outside.
	In the afternoon I see a few more sights, including the statue of
St. George and the Dragon. As the sun has come out, I retake a few of the
pictures from the morning. Then I make my way north into Normmalm-modern
downtown Stockholm-seeing the sights until I stumble across a subway station
and make my way back to John and Lisa's apartment.

SEPTEMBER 28 - Wall, South Dakota (758 miles)

Sadly, we arrive in Wall too late to partake of the joys of Wall Drug. But
we settle for eating dinner across the street in the Cactus Café, the very
restaurant where I had dinner with folks from work on the way back from E3
in May. If you had told me then that I would be eating in that restaurant
again just four months later, I don't think I would have believed you. But
there we are. The menu isn't quite as cosmopolitan as Burlington's famous
White Fox Den, but it goes a little bit beyond bar food, so I enjoy a good
French Dip sandwich and a bowl of clam chowder.
	On the way out of town, we stop at a gas station-not for gas, but so
that I can prove after much frustration at lunch that Sobe Wisdom is
unavailable in the state of South Dakota. Like many things in life, I am
quickly proven utterly incorrect and come out with a Sobe and a box of
Whoppers. Jon is laughing when I come back and points out a truck-driving
future redneck who has hung up his truck on the concrete and steel base of
an enormous sign, hooking his bumper over the five-inch lug nuts that hold
the whole thing upright. We're tempted to stay and watch, but we're behind
schedule... so we press on.

SEPTEMBER 5 - St. Eriksplan, Stockholm

Apparently my internal clock did a flip-flop crossing the Atlantic, as I'm
exhausted in the evening. I must look it, too, as John and Lisa understand
my plight and rather than go out decide to make a terrific Swedish meal of
eggs, fried potatoes, and beets. I've never been nuts about beets in the
past, but I try them now, and realize I'm on the path to one day liking
beets.
	After dinner, I officially present John and Lisa with both Volume 1
and 2 of the Monkeyfan soundtrack. It's only fair that since they got the
first one last, they get the second one almost first. John and I mess around
with properly rewiring the electronics left behind by the guy whose
apartment they are subletting in an attempt to watch the videotape of the
Phantom Menace also left behind. We get most of the way there, but leave the
job uncompleted as I crash.

SEPTEMBER 28 - Spearfish, South Dakota (856 miles)

With 700 miles under our belt for the day, we stop just short of the Wyoming
border. Happily, the hotel we stay at has a pool, so while Jon deals with
some unfinished paperwork I go for a swim and read in the hot tub for a
while. I have some weird flashes back to a family trip 25 years ago (the
same one that took me to Mitchell) and wonder if we stayed here.
	Our 8:30 AM wakeup call never comes, and we wake up just past 9:00.
Still, even with a trip to a nearby grocery store for water, fruit and road
snacks we manage to get back on I-90 by ten, and I pop yet another CD into
the Rio as we turn west. 

SEPTEMBER 6 - Skeppsholmen, Stockholm

Having learned my lesson from the previous day, I get up when John goes to
work but then spend most of the morning reading while watching Swedish
cartoons and MTVEurope. Sure, it's what I might do at home, but it's still
plenty relaxing and made exotic by the Tiny Toons jabbering in breakneck
Swedish.
	Around ten I make my way downtown and make my way to the Moderna,
the Swedish Museum of Modern Art. I read once that modern art makes more
sense in context, and walking through the Moderna I come to believe in the
truth of that statement. It's pretty impressive to see pieces by all of the
modern artists I've heard about-Picasso, Dali, Duchamp, Warhol, Oldenberg,
Pollock, Klein-and after a short while you get past the fact that you're
just looking at a canvas painted white, or a giant reprinting of a
dance-step diagram to actually realize that they're trying to say something.

SEPTEMBER 29 - Sundance, Wyoming (911 miles)

Another gas stop, this time in the town where the Sundance Kid got his name.
A pretty small place, and my stay is marked mainly by the three guys in the
gas station buying hunting licenses-and swearing that the rifle on the wall
being raffled off is the same one that was there last year. They're putting
together the pieces of the conspiracy as I wander back out to the truck.

SEPTEMBER 6 - Normmalm, Stockholm

After leaving the Moderna, I make my way back into downtown Stockholm, and
passing through a mall I find a huge toy store and a game store (you can
take the geek out of America, but you can't take the geek out of the
geek...). European toys and games are the most interesting things I
see-until I notice the guy behind the counter at the game store is reading
CAMPAIGN! I talk with him for a few minutes (today I'm allowing myself to
speak English), and it turns out the owner of the store brought the magazine
back from GenCon. I tell him that I know the publisher and that he should
order a bunch of copies. In return, he says that he likes what he's read
sofar and will talk to the owner. Score one for the home team.
	Back home just before John and Lisa return. We hop back into the
train system and make our way to a terrific Swedish restaurant (sadly, I
can't remember the name) for a terrific Swedish meal. It's a long meal, but
a good one. Then it's back home again to finish hooking up the VCR. I nod
off throughout the Phantom Menace, and later can't even remember if we made
it to the end. Stupid jetlag.

SEPTEMBER 29 - Sheridan, Wyoming (1058 miles)

We've made it over the thousand-mile mark, so we celebrate by stopping for
food and gas. Again. Jon also needs to pick up a new address book, so we
make our way downtown and find a Wal-Mart Plus-a Wal-Mart with a grocery
store. Jon quickly finds the address book and we make our way across the
parking lot for a quick lunch at Taco Bell. (For those keeping score at
home--number of days on the road: 3; stops at a Taco Bell: 3. Make your
investments appropriately.)
	Our quick lunch turns out to be anything but. It takes ten minutes
to even order, and when we sit down to wait we realize that the dining room
is full not of people eating but of people waiting. Oh yeah, and they're out
of chicken. The situation is so absurd that Jon and I begin making fun of
the restaurant and its employees-apparently in an increasingly vocal manner,
as Jon later reports that a cute girl ten feet away was laughing. (Sadly,
she was probably of high-school age, so no missed opportunity there,
faithful reader. But thank you for thinking of Jon and I.)

SEPTEMBER 7 - Skansen, Stockholm

John has taken the day off of work, so we relax at home for a bit before
setting off toward downtown. Our first goal is the Vasamuseet-a museum
dedicated to the Vasa, a ship built by the Swedish crown in the early 1600s
that sunk on its modern voyage. Our own trip to the museum also includes a
ship, as we get off the train and transfer to a ferry. That the public
transport pass I bought for the train also works on the bus and the ferry
system confirms my hunch that Stockholm has the Greatest Public
Transportation System in the World. Or at least a better one than Madison
has.
	The Vasamuseet is like an exhibit from House on the Rock, except
built by scholars and not flea market merchants. The centerpiece is the Vasa
itself, recovered from its underwater grave in the '60s and reentombed in
polyethyline gycol. So you walk into the museum, the ceiling jumps from 20
to 150 feet, and there's a giant ship in front of you. On galleries
surrounding it on several levels are lots of terrific exhibits that give the
ship some nice context, and though John has been here several times before
rather than be bored he is an excellent guide. On the way out I decide that
it's time to start picking up souvenirs and gifts for my family, so I make a
quick stop in the gift shop.
	But I don't find everything I need, so it's downtown for more
shopping. That first requires a trip to the currency exchange, as my
bankroll of Swedish Krona has run low. John takes me to a ForEx at the
downtown tourist center and service is surprisingly fast. I immediately drop
some of my converted cash at the nearby gift shop and the bookstore
upstairs.
	
SEPTEMBER 29 - Big Timber, Montana (1,273 miles)

After a morning of climbing the foothills of the Rockies and blasting
through Billings (a competitor with Toledo for Ugliest City in America), the
Little U-Haul That Could has to pull off in western Montana for gas. As we
come out from paying, there's a woman hanging around near the corner of the
building smoking and leaving one hand suspiciously inside her purse. Our
schedule demands that we get back on the road, but let's pretend that she
was waiting to shoot someone, okay?

SEPTEMBER 7 - Gamla Stan, Stockholm

Souvenir shopping is concluded, and I avoid the courtyard of the Royal
Palace where I was almost shot the day before.
	I didn't tell you? I was wandering around Gamla Stan in a courtyard
I thought near the Palace. Turns out it was _in_ the palace, and when I
wandered across an invisible line of death I was barked at by a Swedish
soldier carrying an automatic weapon. I'm sure it would have been quite
effective if I a)spoke Swedish-better-or b)was paying attention. As it was,
I had slipped momentarily into the role of Dumb Tourist. But you get shocked
back to reality pretty quickly when _three_ soldiers with automatic weapons
come over and escort you back behind the lines of cruise ship passengers. At
the time, part of me wondered who would want to attack the figurehead-only
Swedish royal family. But the next morning's papers revealed the truth, as a
Swedish teen smashed a cake into the face of the king. So now I believe in
the purpose for guns-pastries in the hands of evil.
	Before heading back to the apartment, John and I visit the Nobel
Museum, an almost-new museum dedicated to the Nobel Prize and Nobel
Prizewinners. It's small, but pretty cool. We have a good time, especially
in the small theater where they show a continuous series of completely
surreal science and scientist-themed movies. I stop by the gift shop hoping
to get one of the T-shirts worn by the incredibly cute waitresses in the
café (note to self: on next visit, schedule every meal there), but no luck;
I leave only with two medals of chocolate, appropriately named the Nobel
Prize for Chocolate.

SEPTEMBER 29 - Missoula, Montana (1,541 miles)

Jon handles late night driving up into the mountains and across the
Continental Divide, and around 11:30 we pull into Missoula. Less prepared
than previous days, we haven't picked out a specific hotel from the AAA
guidebook. But I see a billboard for one I remember. Unfortunately, I direct
Jon off the highway an exit too early and we wander through town a bit
before getting to the right area.
	Of further surprise is that the hotel we stop at is full. Not just
that, but so are the next two. Luckily, we find a Best Western with a room
and crash. Our wake-up call comes right on time, and we make our way
downstairs just in time to enjoy the continental breakfast-which actually
_is_ pretty continental, reminding me of the breakfast buffet at the hotel I
stayed at in London (which itself is _not_ Continental, but you get my Ugly
American point, right?)
	Then it's time to gas up, and get back on the road.

SEPTEMBER 7 - St. Eriksplan, Stockholm

Lisa comes home, and she and John lead me to the nearby Seth's Place. Sadly,
the restaurant seems to be a bit classier than it's namesake and we are
intimidated away to an Italian restaurant a block away from John and Lisa's
apartment. It's actually very good.
	We then make the pilgrimage to the world-famous Monkey Bar-only to
be disappointed once again as we find it closed. Still, I can now say I've
stood outside, which is almost as good. Also, on the way over my (let's call
it what it is) Geek Sense detected a nearby comic shop, only two blocks from
John and Lisa's apartment. We stop on the way back, and I find two François
Schuiten hardcovers I've never seen before. An expensive score, but one I'm
excited about and happy to pay for.
	Then home, and soon to sleep. Big plans tomorrow.

SEPTEMBER 30 - rest stop, Idaho (mileage unknown)

I drove all morning, determined to make it all the way across the panhandle
of Idaho before I turn the wheel over to Jon. But nature calls, and high in
the mountains I pull over into a rest stop to make use of the facilities.
	I say without reservation that western Montana and northern Idaho
are some of the most beautiful territory it's ever been my privilege to pass
through. But it's also completely isolated. Those snow gates that can be
dropped across the interstate ("Road blocked ahead. Go back to Missoula.")
are there for a reason, and you'd have to be pretty hardy to live out here.
The price of beauty, I suppose. We'll see if I can't afford it.
	Coming out of the bathroom I see that a man walking his dog is
wearing a baseball cap with Bucky Badger embroidered on it. We talk for a
minute and it turns out he's from Madison, out here visiting relatives.
Strange to find a piece of home about as far away from it as you can get.

SEPTEMBER 8 - Lake Malaren, Sweden

It's Saturday, and John and Lisa and I got up early and made our way down to
the Stockholm City Hall, home to the Nobel Prize ceremony. But our goal is
nearby, where ferries are waiting. We board the appropriate ferry and climb
onto the top deck so as to better see the sights. Just behind us are the
seven liferafts, and by the time we pull out of port the ferry is so full
that I wonder if seven are enough.
	But the two-and-a-half hour journey is without incident and the
weather is clear, if a bit cool. I see lots of beautiful scenery and
lakeside cabins, one of which includes an incredible waterslide-about a
fifty-foot drop, straight into the lake. As we near our destination, we
decide to go down to the ferry's concession stand and grab something to eat.
John and Lisa laugh as I begin to eat, and it is only later that I realize I
was momentarily and inadvertently the Ugly American, taking my Swedish
open-face sandwich and breaking it so it could be folded in half. Oh well.
At least I end up with clean hands.

SEPTEMBER 30 -- Couer D'Lane, Idaho (1,705 miles)

A quick stop for lunch in the late afternoon. Jon's cel phone is finally
back in range of the system, and he checks his messages while I try to call
home and wish my mom a happy birthday on a nearby payphone.
	Couer D'Lane is the Wisconsin Dells of Idaho, with a population that
seems fifty percent tourist and a waterslide on every block. It also
increases the number of people we've seen in Idaho by about a bazillion
percent, unless you count the other moving trucks. Maybe its just because
we're traveling in a U-Haul, but everyone and their brother seems to be
moving-usually in the opposite direction, but that's probably because anyone
behind us can't catch up to us and we can't catch anyone ahead. As the days
have passed I've found a strange feeling of brotherhood with these other
travelers; if our horn worked I would beep it when I saw them, but have to
settle for a jaunty wave they probably never see. Oh well.
	For all the 'friends', we've also found our nemesis. First spotted
in South Dakota, a couple times each day we've been passed by what I've
named the Luxury RV, a glossy black bus-like RV pulling a high-priced black
SUV, like Puff Daddy going on walkabout. Ostentatious, faster than us-the
reasons to be annoyed go on and on. But though I've been watching, the LRV's
shiny prow has yet to glide past our port windows. I decide to remain
vigilant as Jon takes the wheel.

SEPTEMBER 8 - Birka, Sweden

We're at our destination for the day, the oldest discovered settlement in
Scandinavia. Again, another great museum with plenty of English. (Afraid of
world travel, Americans? Ease into it by going first to Canada; that's
basically America anyway. Then go to England; they're weird, but they speak
the same language. Finally, Sweden, where the country is a bit more foreign
but everybody wants to help you in your native tongue. (John later tells me
a joke: "A second language to a Swede is something they study other than
English.") After you leave Sweden, you're ready for the world. Try Japan.)
	After we make our way through the museum we have some time to kill
before the English tour and wander around the island a little. It's not like
the U.S., where the village would have been recreated with actors playing
sanitized versions of historical personages. Instead, you walk through
fields trimmed by the wandering flocks of sheep and see berms where
buildings used to be. It's nowhere near as annoying, and actually kind of
refreshing.
	The English tour proves to be led by a young Swedish archeologist
who spends much of her time talking about general historical detail (rather
than the location-specific information I was expecting) while dark clouds
begin to roll in overhead. She's interesting, but most of the crowd is
distracted as droplets begin to fall. Finally, just as she wraps up, the sky
opens. I'm already pretty wet, so I just walk back with John. Lisa turns on
the afterburners and is gone. We catch up with her back on the dock, where
it turns out she was smart enough to secure a place near the front of the
line for the returning ferry. Indeed nobody wants to ride up top on the way
back, and a few people get aced out of a table seat. Not us, though, and
John shows me his journal and its record of the places he and Lisa have
visited across Europe as we make our way back to Stockholm.

SEPTEMBER 30 - MOFN, Washington (1,786 miles)

I gave this town its name, as it is in the middle of nowhere and didn't even
have the dignity to give itself a name for its highway exit. Though we
didn't have time to stop in Spokane and see my grandparents (although we did
see a giant inflatable gorilla, prompting Jon to properly bemoan the trip's
lack of monkeys), we had to stop here for gas-and that's nearly all this
place has to offer. That, an RV park (despite the "Don't park RV signs here"
signs that seem to be tacked to every post), a collection of construction
equipment working and otherwise, and a concrete pipe capped with a metal
plate jutting out of the ground. My theory is that it's the entrance to a
secret underground government base, but that woman back in Montana probably
didn't shoot anyone, either.

SEPTEMBER 8 - Normmalm, Stockholm

We've decided to eat at home tonight, and that requires groceries. A short
walk from the ferry docks is T-Centralen, the Grand Central Station for the
Stockholm subway and train system. But our goal is actually to take a
shortcut through T-Centralen to a grocery store on the other end (near
Anders Torg, a cool plaza and underground shopping center I wandered through
earlier in the week.)
	At the grocery store, John and Lisa buy what's required for dinner
and I go overboard buying Swedish candy and other foodstuffs for people back
home. Then we hop the train and go home for a dinner of authentically heated
frozen Swedish meatballs (and John reports that the 'authentically' is not
meant sarcastically, as most Swedes don't make them from scratch either).
	Then I pack. Tomorrow the journey home begins.

SEPTEMBER 30 - Roslyn, Washington (1,932 miles)

We're almost there, but fannish interest (you can take the geeks out of
Wisconsin, but...you know the rest) made us get off the interstate and make
our way up a county highway to Roslyn, where they filmed the exteriors for
the TV series Northern Exposure. All the shops are closed this late on a
Sunday evening, so no T-shirts for us. But the KBHR radio station is still
there and we get to peek into the now-dusty interior. We also see Roslyn's
Café, the building that was supposed to be Dr. Fleischman's office, and the
Brick, where we stop to grab dinner.
	While waiting for dinner, I wander back across the street and
finally get ahold of my mom. While eating dinner, I watch a gorgeous nearby
woman, who eventually notices me and subtly flashes her wedding ring. As of
this writing, the jury is still out on whether I'm happy or sad to have been
caught being potentially prurient.
	Then it's back to the road, with only Snoqualimie Pass between us
and Seattle.

SEPTEMBER 9 - St. Eriksplan, Stockholm

It took a while the night before, but everything is packed. Remember the two
heavy bags I brought over? They're much heavier now, and I've added a third
bag-a plastic shopping bag holding tinned sardines for my dad wrapped in
insulating newspaper.
	John and Lisa decide to accompany me to the airport, and we go out
to catch the airport shuttle. (They don't have one at this stop, but did I
mention that Stockholm bus stops have little digital readouts telling you
roughly how many minutes it will be until the next bus for a particular line
arrives? Man, I love that public transportation system.)

SEPTEMBER 30 - Bellevue, Washington (2,015 miles)

It's not Seattle, but it's close enough. We make our way through the dark
streets and eventually find the house Jon will be staying at. We have some
problems finding the key that supposed to be hidden outside, but luckily one
of the other roomers is home-and turns out to also be a WizKids employee
named Dave. Dave shows us Jon's (surprisingly tiny!) room, and we unload
what we can from the truck. It's almost ten, and too late to find a storage
space; Jon will have to do that tomorrow after I leave. Dave does help us
move the U-Haul and trailer to the WizKids parking lot (including taking the
wheel for the particularly tricky job of turning the truck around in the
narrow parking lot), and takes us over to the nearby mall and an all-night
grocery store so I can get some cash for the trip back.
	A night in a sleeping bag on the floor, and I'm up early to get down
to SeaTac.

SEPTEMBER 9 - Arlanda International Airport, Sweden

The first place I visited in Sweden is also the last. John and Lisa wait in
line with me to pick up my boarding pass, and at the last moment I decide to
carry all my luggage rather than risk something getting lost in my
admittedly short transfer in Chicago.
	Five minutes at the ticket counter, quick thank-yous and good-byes,
then a quick pass though security, down the terminal, through customs,
through check-in at the plane, and en route.
	Again, SAS is fantastic, and again I see two movies I hadn't seen
before, "Driven" and "Bridget Jones's Diary". I fret for a moment about the
valid-but-stupid use of an apostrophe in 'Jones's' and for quite a bit
longer about whether forty minutes is enough time to make my transfer in
Chicago.

OCTOBER 1 - SeaTac International, Seattle

Seattle at last, but I don't see much of it. It's pretty darn foggy as we
make our way down the 405 to the airport. But finally I have to say my
good-byes to Jon, and carry my bags into the airport.
	The line in front of the United counter fills the queue, which I
expected. It stretches around the corner, which doesn't surprise me. It then
goes around another corner and reaches off down the concourse, which I
wasn't expecting. I'm not quite done with the other book I brought on the
trip ("Tokyo Suckerpunch" by Isaac Adamson) and worry that I might finish it
before I get to the front of the line. What would I do then, talk to people
or something? So I go down to the airport bookstore and after a few minutes
I find a paperback I've been meaning to read ("/" by Greg Bear) and join the
line.
	I do surprisingly little reading. People are talking quite a bit,
and the topics are what's expected-the September 11 hijackings, the upgraded
security. I'm surprised at how candid the talk is, though; I might have
expected a bit of avoidance of certain areas given that we were all about to
board planes, but people talk about crashing planes, knifing stewardesses,
Maceing passengers-the whole bit. The line is also moving faster than
expected, mainly because the airline is making certain that nobody misses
their plane by occasionally coming by and culling out anybody waiting for
flights leaving in an hour or less, and I spend most of the time talking to
a couple leaving for a vacation in Reno ("The tickets were booked nine
months ago," he shrugs. "I feel a little guilty going, and a little scared,
but..." she trails off.) It's a pretty interesting conversation, but by the
time we get to the United cattle queue, I've turned to my book and they've
turned to the guy behind them in line-who turns out to be a missionary. By
the time we get to the front of the line I've finished my book and they have
a fistful of literature. We wish each other well and pick up our boarding
passes. I offer to check one of my two bags, but the woman behind the
counter notes that I've packed pretty light and suggests I take it. "It'll
be easy to get through security, easy to carry onboard, easy to stow, and it
won't get lost in the shuffle," she explains.
	So it's on to security, and another thirty-minute wait. Finally both
my bags are X-rayed (my larger bag x-rayed three separate times), then both
bags wiped with gauze pads that are passed through a spectrograph. "I don't
know why they laid off all those people," I hear one security woman say. "We
could use them here."
Finally, I'm checked with a metal-detector wand and patted down. It's not
that I look particularly dangerous; they're doing this to everybody. One guy
has a plate in his leg and has to roll up his pants to show the scar. ("If
there's a knife in there he's going to have a hell of a time getting it out
of there," quips a nearby guy.) Airline and airport employees coming through
are similarly searched.
	Eventually I'm cleared through, jump on the train out to the
necessary terminal, and grab breakfast at a Burger King before making my way
down to the gate. In addition to the continuing conversations about
September 11th, I also make note of the only time I'll ever see airport
newsstands prominently displaying large color photos of an aircraft
exploding.
	As I'm flying standby, I have to wait until everyone boards before I
know if I'll be bumped to a flight ninety minutes later. Everyone boards,
and it's already pretty crowded. Further, I'm not the first person called up
on standby, so I start preparing to dig into my new book. But finally my
single status pays off-everyone else on standby is traveling as a pair and
won't break up. Thus I secure the absolute last seat to Chicago.

SEPTEMBER 9 - Chicago O'Hare Airport

Snagging one last Swedish comic book from the newspaper rack I get off the
plane with thirty-seven minutes to clear Customs and get to my flight to
Milwaukee.
	My first obstacle is the longest set of hallways I've ever seen,
funneling foreign arrivals to the Customs area. They go on forever, like
some surrealist movie, and the heavy bags bite deep into my shoulder. Hands
full I'm forced to wear my leather jacket and have begun to sweat. I see
signs mentioning Mad Cow and asking that people who have been in
agricultural areas report themselves. I think momentarily of my shoes, in a
Swedish sheep pasture only 24 hours before, then vow to dip my shoes in
bleach at home and press on.
	Finally I make it to Customs. Other people wait for their luggage,
but I was smart enough to carry mine and-
	My path is blocked by a Chicago cop who starts asking customs-type
questions of me. I'm as cooperative as I can manage, and only a few minutes
later she lets me go. I get my passport stamped and rush out of the Foreign
Arrivals area.
	I take the inter-terminal train to the United terminal, jump off and
rush down...only to discover that my gate is in the terminal next door.
Luckily there's a walkway between the two, but it means going through
security. I pass through as quickly as possible, and the security staff is
cooperative when I explain that the hard, metal bundle wrapped in newspaper
is cans of sardines.
	Sweat pours off me as I rush toward gate F7. The airport plays one
final trick on me as the gates go F4...F5...F6...F8! before revealing F7. I
present my boarding pass just as they're about to close the door. It's a
trick to stow my overstuffed bags, but I manage. Then I collapse into my
seat, too tired to even read as the plane takes off.

OCTOBER 1 - Chicago O'Hare Airport

A few minutes of my ninety-minute layover are eaten up as we arrive late,
but I make it up by using the Customer Service counter in the terminal to
get my boarding pass for my connection. Then I casually make my way down a
neon-decorated underground tunnel toward my connection, thinking it's a
shame that the heightened security will stop me from my occasional visits to
the airport to just wander around.
	(Regardless of my mental wanderings, I blame the poor signage at
O'Hare for what was about to happen.)
Suddenly I find myself outside the security cordon. Damn it. I make my way
toward the same security checkpoint I passed through three weeks
earlier-only to find it closed. So I make my way back to main security,
where the wait is shorter than SeaTac thanks to more checkpoints (in fact,
it's near to nothing), but it is more through; the guy with the metal
detector wand finds my pocket change, my watch, my pen, my belt buckle
(which he makes me turn over to make certain nothing is hidden behind it),
and even the metal supports apparently embedded in my shoes. Everything
comes out my pockets, and my ankles are patted three times to make sure I'm
not using the shoes as camouflage for a knife or gun. The entire process is
watched over by a cute woman wearing a 'U.S. Marshall' windbreaker.
	(I'll have you note that none of these checks would have stopped a
deadly Swedish pastry, however.)
	There's still plenty of time as I make my way to the gate-the same
gate I rushed to three weeks before, as a matter of fact. I grab a seat and
try to read but am instead distracted by one of the most gorgeous women I've
ever seen sitting a row away. I alternate between CNN (not AirportCNN,
surprisingly, but the pure blend) and sneaking furtive glances.
	(Perhaps by this point you're thinking that I've mentioned
attractive women a lot in this travelogue. Maybe you even think I've done so
too much. Well you know where to send the names and phone numbers of cute,
single female friends, people. No smokers, please.)
	Our flight ends up being delayed almost an hour as they change the
tires on the plane. But soon enough we're in the air. While the flight from
Seattle to Chicago was packed, Chicago to Madison is almost empty;
apparently the main routes are filling first.

SEPTEMBER 9 - Milwaukee, Wisconsin

I drag my bags out to the car and begin to drive back to Madison. I'm
exhausted, and to top it off, it's raining. All in all, it's not a very fun
drive but I try to save the evening by saying that I'll be at that night's
gaming after Jon calls.
	I go home for a shower and a quick nap, but lured by the siren song
of my bed I sleep all night.
	I'm home.

OCTOBER 1 - Madison, Wisconsin (0 miles?)

I touch down at home and make my way through a nearly empty airport to the
cabs waiting outside. There's enough new and different about recent travel
that the cabbie and I manage to chatter all the way back to my apartment. I
think about going in to work to report on the trip to the Monkeyfan list and
remember that I have yet to write up the Sweden trip. But after a shower, my
bed once again sings its siren song and I succumb.
	I'm home.


Thanks to John and Lisa for their hospitality, and to Jon for inviting me
along on a long but fun journey. It was a hell of a month.

Seth
10/3/01