Swedish Episode II

The day of big journeys ...

Pete with his group on bus from Sogndal to Oslo; then train from Oslo to Eidsvoll to rendezvous with Phil and the minibus team to camp nearby. Unfortunately the 'nearest' campsite was some 20 kms from Eidsvoll. Pete had no problems in his journeys - all on time. The minibus took a lot longer (due to a couple of "short-cuts"!) but the route was fascinating and took in ferry stops, Stavkirke & ice creams, lonely forest roads; net result was a late arrival (1 hr) at Eidsvoll and then it wasn't until gone 9pm that we found the 'nearest' campsite. Late night ferrying of groups led to an 11pm supper - all of which put a seal on a very long and exhausting day.

The campsite was located next to a lake with sailing and swimming amenities - this we only discovered the next day when there was no time to enjoy them - and also hosted two coach loads of German and French teenagers, also late arrivals that evening. So we were not too worried about our late activity as this was all lost in the headlamp-illuminated comings and goings of the coach parties, which carried on well into the hours of darkness. Yes, that was the other noticeable thing: being several hundred kms further south, sunset and the onset of proper night-time darkness happened much earlier.

Matthew's Comment ...

Right, I'll keep this brief.

I just wanted to make a note, a kind of piece of advice; most probably to myself.

"There is not much time when it comes to women."

Not that good, I know, but hold on.

What I mean is that there's the staring competition, the introduction (at which I'm getting better), then something has to happen. Quickly.

I write this because a divine French girl (makes a change) was at our campsite this morning. The staring part took place - for quite a long time really - then the introduction was made; simple but effective I felt.

It seemed to be going well. She smiled a lot and seemed to get my English. She even washed her hair in front of me (about 75 yards away, but it seemed closer). Then suddenly, she left. Ten minutes after the staged introduction.

Doh.

Gone. For ever.

It was going so well.

Remember.

VSL seen dancing joyfully up and down Eidsvoll Stasjon shouting "Halleluya - Thank You God!" as the 9.23am train for Gardemoen Airport bearing the 'Flight Crew' contingent pulled out of the station. Sanity & Peace restored!

The day the unit split; the plane crew departing and the ferry team remaining to drink and pillage. That is to say drink tea and pillage the Co-op for cake!

We packed up and set off for Ernst's residence in the nick of time, before Matt earned himself a slap round the chops from the French girl, upon whom he had been experimenting with his language skills.

It was around this time that, having settled down with cups of tea and coffee around Ernst's kitchen table, like a chilling wind something dawned on us. The note stuck on Ernst's ceiling read: "TAK"

"What does that mean?" I asked him.

"Well," he replied with a chuckle, "In a bid to teach Els Norwegian, Ben had been labelling items around the house with their Norwegian word. "Tak" - pronounced with a long 'ar' - means ceiling. Not to be confused with "Takk" - pronounced with a short 'a' - which you know means thanks."

The implication of this revelation is thus:
I for one, pronouncing "Takk" with a long 'ar' have replied to every kind gesture made by a Norwegian with "Ceiling".

"Thank you for your custom; here is your change."
"Ceiling."

Keen to eliminate some of our journey, we bade farewell and "Takk" to Ernst and set off on the return leg to the land of free toilets.

ALASDAIR

We drove on to Kongsvinger and sought out the out-of-town campsite next to the River Glomma. A peaceful evening to recharge batteries after the long travels of the previous few days. Tomorrow, a comfortable drive down through Sweden to be conveniently placed for Thursday's ferry.

Matt even bought me a beer tonight!

Glomma Camping - we had the whole site to ourselves!



The peaceful outlook from our pitch across the Glomma River



Sunset Serenity

Onsdag 21 August

A day for meandering - we made steady progress southwards, back into Sweden and onwards to Göteborg, where we sought out Lilleby Camping Site, a favoured stop-over from previous trips.

As we approached Göteborg outskirts on the main E5 road, we spied and stopped at an information and convenience stop. Here you could take a free and comprehensive map of Göteborg district and street plan - a boon in our spiralling quest for the coastal Lilleby Camping.

Once pitched up, a big fry-up helped settled our travel weary bodies - although Alasdair, Matt & Rich were eager to explore the rocky hillsides just above our site. This we did and over the next hour or so; much scrambling over the flat smooth rocks took place as we circled around the hillside in ever increasing gloom.

Like moths drawn by the flame, we eventually fluttered our way back to the campsite lamps; then, unwilling to surrender consciousness on our final night in Scandinavia, we eventually snuggled down in our bags and drifted away into quiet slumber.

Torsdag 22 August

Wonderful, wonderful Copenhagen .... except it was Götebourg - glorious, glorious Göteborg? Ja!

Awoke 6am, day dawning bright and fresh across a still Lilleby campsite. Alasdair was whistling a tune through his teeth as he slumbered on; Richard snorted and rolled over and Matt sat up saying "Who's whistling?" I zipped up the tent leaving the '3 lads in a tent' to snooze tunefully on.

Leaving the tea water on to boil I made way towards the 5-star shower block, certainly the best in all our travels; bags of room, forceful jet of water which I could stand under, free hot and cold water, comfortable changing/drying area (communal). I made the most of the early morning solitude.

Back at the van, many minutes later, the tea water was boiling away ready for my tea. First brew of the day - extra! And things were just stirring in the tent, too, as Matthew's head poked out to enquire the time of our departure.

"10 minutes - OK?" My reply sparked immediate reaction from the other two - Rich snorted and rolled back the other way, Alasdair stopped whistling.

The sun was just breasting the heather clad rocky slopes of the low slung hills that surrounded the campsite, which itself began to slowly, lazily stir into life as people gradually emerged from their tents and caravans. A pretty French derrière turned to smile and respond to "Bonjour!" as I tracked down to the kitchen block to rinse out the morning's dishes. There I met up with the English lady who had chatted with the lads the night before. She was a PE teacher and knew Gloucester quite well. She spoke fondly and sadly of Adrian Turton of Chosen Hill. She and her partner had just spent 2 glorious weeks travelling around Southern Sweden and visiting friends in Stockholm.

Ten minutes later we were off; Madeleine's advice to turn left towards Kungälv rather than right to Göteborg at the end of Lillebyvägen proved a boon and we easily made our way towards Göteborg Centrum through the sunlit suburbs.

We were pleasantly and efficiently processed by Ticket Control and passed swiftly onto Passport Control and Customs. Matthew's anticipation of banter with the attractively blonde Politi guard was mercilessly quashed as she sour-faced waved us onto her colleague - completely opposite, markedly unattractive yet with a cheerful smile and preposition to chat about our holiday in Scandinavia. I reflected that (cosmetic) beauty is only skin deep.

The absence of bread - inadvertedly eaten yesterday! - caused us to ditch our plans for a fried egg sandwich and quayside brew whilst waiting in line.

The best part of 50 minutes later saw us reversing onto the ferry and into the car next in line - a gentle bump! - itself pushed on board by a group of deck hands. Cabin located, kit stowed, we took up positions on the aft decks to watch Göteborg harbour slide by in the warm sunshine. The water sparkled its reflections like tiny diamonds glinting in the jeweller's window and a lone sea bird quartered our gentle egress from the fjord into the open sea.

"Time for food" - Richard ever champing to sustain his bulk reminded everyone that little but a cup of tea had been partaken of at breakfast. So coffee and Danish pastries (and an open sandwich for me!) at the ship's 'Jolly Roger' cafeteria.

To while away the time until next eating break (18.15 for Cold Table Buffet) various diversions were undertaken, principally involving lounging around on the sun deck watching and admiring fellow loungers and sun worshippers. Blood temperatures as well as skin temperatures rose dramatically during this pleasant interlude. After a couple of hours it was all too much for Matthew, who took Rich and Alasdair off to see a film. Rich and Matt had strategically situated themselves very close to 2 very attractive young ladies who were sunning themselves (skimpy bikinis) along with their family. They were pretending to read their books, held at suitable level to easily be peered over. I'm sure the girls and their family recognised the lads' motives and strategy and gave them the acknowledgement they deserved - ie totally ignored them.

Later on while walking around deck, the girl's mother stopped me to inquire about the sketching of her she had seen me attempting. The ice broken, introductions made and I spent a quiet and pleasing five minutes chatting. Matt and Rich were gob-smacked, envious, desolate, furious, dejected, jealous.

A full and satisfying Smårgåsbord required a stroll around the deck. I watched the sun slowly sink into a misty grey horizon, its after glow illuminating in pale pink and orange shades the wispy strands of high cirrus clouds which banded and crossed the sky in waves, each wave like the cream swirls on top of a fine after-dinner dessert.

Fredag 23 August

The next morning, declining to join me for the cold-table breakfast, Matt and Rich were absolutely green with envy when they learnt that the whole family (minus the older daughter - shame!) had shared the breakfast table with me and I'd spent an agreeable 45 minutes or so finding out about Styg Robertson and his family, their history, holiday plans, etc. Matt and Rich were incredulous and absolutely gutted to have missed such a golden chance!!

By noon we were back on British soil and driving south, homeward, on the long haul back to Gloucester. Each quietly reflecting on personal memories of Norway (re)visited, savouring moments of our wonderful expedition, grateful for the opportunities it afforded.

Taken from Daily Log Book Entries