Sweden (July 29 - August 2) - Final Thoughts

The final leg of my trip brought me to Sweden, the country where my great, great grandfather, Andrew Eliason left 148 years earlier along with his parents Erick Eliason and Anna Hansson, his uncle and aunt and their several children.  Visiting Alingsås, which was home to my ancestors, was the reason I chose Sweden as my final destination. 


I arrived on the evening of Friday, July 29^th and made my way downtown to a large hostel.  From what I could see,  Stockholm was a beautiful mix of old and new set along miles of waterways.  

Exploration of the city would have to wait until after my trip to Alingsås.  On Saturday, July 30^th, I caught the early-morning train for the four hour ride to Alingsås.

Given that I had no contacts in the city and no references, other than some pages from a family journal, my expectations were quite low.  I figured that it would be enough simply to see the town and countryside where my ancestors had once farmed.  Alingsås turned out to be a charming town, well worth a visit on its own.  I managed to rent a bicycle from the friendly shop owner and spent the afternoon getting to know the area.   Alingsås sits between two lakes which are connected by a quiet river. 

Consequently, there are lovely paths and trails throughout the area.  The town square is home to some of Sweden’s oldest wood paneled buildings. 

Sunday morning started with a peaceful  run around Gerdsken Lake, the smaller of the two.  It was one of those exceptional mornings where you feel as if you have the world to yourself and could run forever.  The sky was gray with fog and the lake was a colorless mirror held still by the mist. 

Gradually, the fog started to lift and by the time I finished my run, a beautiful, blue sky emerged.  Midway during the run, however,  I did manage to take advantage of one of the piers and launched myself into the refreshing water.  I was joined by a couple of Swedes who mentioned the extraordinary heat (mid 70s) … “Who could get used to this”? Thinking of my poor friends in Houston, I tried not to laugh too loudly.

Later that morning, I made my way to the local LDS church where I thought it would be nice to attend a Swedish service.  At the doorway, my plans were happily hijacked.  There I met an enthusiastic couple, Olle and Pia. 

Olle, Thomas and Pia.

Upon finding out why I was in Alingsås, they immediately took charge of the situation.  They asked for my family history and began scouring it for place names and thus began a two-hour, mad-cap race around the countryside where they pointed out many of the sites and places mentioned in the history. 

We first visited the Landskyrkan (Country church) in Alingsås.  This church was supposedly built in the 14^th century, but may be as old as 1293.  The Eliason family attended this church prior to their conversion to Mormonism.

Then we were off to Vikaryd, which is currently the site of an organic farm.  This area was previously known as Enerkullen and was the location of a large farm owned by one of the Eliasons.  The farm would eventually be sold to pay for the passage to America, not only for the Eliasons, but also for many of the early Swedish converts to Mormonism.

The biggest thrill, however was the quick side trip to Lindås where the Eliasons also had property.  It was there that the early LDS missionaries preached the message of a new American religion to the local population.  Because the missionaries were not frequently well-received, they welcomed the chance to preach at the relative peace of the Eliason farm.  A large rock in the center of the farm is believed to have been an early gathering site. 

Local members of the LDS church continue to hold devotional meetings there, remembering their religious ancestors who left Sweden in 1863 for the deserts of Utah.  

I had no idea how touching it would be for me to visit these sites where my ancestors made decisions that would ultimately shape my life so distinctly.  And to think that I could have missed all of it, were it not for the kindness and enthusiasm of two strangers who were willing to extend a hand to a middle-aged bicyclist from America who just happened to peddle up to the church that day. 

I barely caught the train back to Stockholm that afternoon. 

Train station in Alingsås, likely the Eliasons' last view of their home.

 So how do you see Stockholm in a day?   Much walking, much boating and much eating.  Sweden was the only country I visited without a travel guide so I quickly pasted together an itinerary based on what I could read online or from one of the extra travel books laying around the hostel.  As you would suspect, Stockholm is clean, orderly and full of polite, pretty people.   Some cities offer “Hop-on, Hop-off” bus tours, Stockholm offers the same with its ferries. 

My first stop was the Vasa Museum. 

The Vasa is a gorgeous, almost perfectly preserved war ship from the 17^th Century.  A poor design and an impatient King Gustavus Adolphus, coupled with a slight breeze, caused the massive, top-heavy ship to sink on August 10, 1628, barely a mile into its maiden voyage.  There it remained until it was raised in 1961.  The entire ship is now preserved in a wonderful museum that documents life in Sweden in the 1600s. 

I made my way to Sodermalm which I understand is now the hip part of Stockholm and also serves as the backdrop for some of the action in the Swedish thriller, “The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo”.  It looked like it would be a fun area of town to live in. 

I then made my way to the Gamla Stan which is the old quarter of Stockholm and home of the Royal Palace.  The streets in this area are narrow and full of cute tourist shops.  More importantly, there are a lot of ice cream and other dessert parlors. 

 

I was pretty tired by the time I made it back in the evening.  I knew that the next morning would mean an early bus ride to the airport where I would catch the plane to New York and finally Houston. 

While I was sad about concluding my trip, I was also tired and anxiously looking forward to seeing my family and friends.   But more than anything, I felt completely at peace.  I was satiated, grateful, content, fulfilled … enlightened?


Final thoughts ...

As I flew across the Atlantic, I tried to reflect upon what I had experienced.  Had I learned anything about the world, myself or my beliefs?  Ideas swirled in my mind, but ultimately, the only things that seemed to stick were things that had occurred to me during the trip.  I offer them here, not because they represent any profound insights, but more as a reminder to myself that life, everyday life, should be and can be different. 

First:  Live each day as if it were your last.  For almost three months, each day felt like it was my last because, in many ways, it was.  I didn't know if I would ever make it back to that street, temple, train, park, restaurant, ruin, beach, stupa, or village again.  I didn’t have the luxury of letting a day slip by unlived.  I can’t think of any time in my life when every day was lived so fully, to the max, without any regrets.  No wasted time, no bitterness, no complaints.  What a gift!  The goal then becomes trying to live my daily life like this. 

Second:  Slowly looking, no problem.   This phase which Nirmal and I heard on our trek is the Tibetan trinket seller version of “take time to smell the roses”.  Open your eyes, smell the flowers, swim in the river, feel the wind, dash through the fountain, listen to the earth, play with the kids, and breathe the air.  It’s not arriving at Muktinath that matters so much as the path we take to get there. 

Third:  Be open to discovery.  Really take the less-traveled road.  Become comfortable with change.  Seek it out.  Accept delays and discomfort as part of the journey.  Risk embarrassment.  It’s easy to convince ourselves that we need familiarity, safety and routine, but all of these are the enemies of discovery and growth.   Find your true self.  Let the universe have its say.   

Fourth:  What really matters is how we treat others.  We are all connected.  How we live really does matter.  How we treat others really does matter.  So take someone else along for the ride.  Drive someone around a Swedish village.  Hike with them up Doi Suthep to visit a Buddhist temple.  Carry their overstuffed backpack as you climb mountains together.  Invite someone over for mo mo and let them help you in the kitchen.  Talk business plans and life goals with a new friend as you bicycle around the country.  Share what you have.  Share what you are.  Open your eyes.  Breathe.  Live.

Italy (July 24 - July 29)

On Saturday, July 23^rd, I began the long bus ride from Pokhara to Kathmandu.  It was a sad day of goodbyes.  That afternoon I caught a flight back to Dubai (for another miserable overnight airport stay) before catching the flight to Istanbul where I would resume my trip. 

Enigmatic Dubai with a view (?) of the Burj Khalifa, the tallest building in the world

I had a good part of the day to kill in Istanbul so I returned to the historical area where I wandered around the now familiar streets.  I should probably mention that Turkish food is really good.  It’s hearty, flavorful and relatively cheap in the numerous shops that line the busy streets.  Following my one-hour metro ride to a different airport, I boarded the quickish flight to Milan. 

Because I arrived so late, most of the public transport was winding down.  I finally managed to catch a late bus into the city’s main train terminal where I wandered the empty streets until I found an open hotel room.  Actually, I followed one of the “arranger-type” people who offer assistance, with the hope of a tip or concession from the hotel to where you have been delivered.  At 2:00 a.m. following almost 40 hours of travel and with an enormous backpack on my back (and a smaller one on my chest), I was thrilled to cooperate.

Waking up the next morning, I felt a little like Dorothy emerging from her house into Munchkinland.  I vividly recall walking into the bathroom and noticing the dry tile floors with no bugs in sight and finding a separate shower with warm water and a sit down toilet.  The contrasts between this and almost all of my other previous lodgings were stark.  And, while I honestly felt a degree of sadness that the more “rustic” parts of my trip had ended, I also felt a huge relief that I was now back with the familiar.  Outside the hotel, the streets were busy with Italians drinking espresso and eating buttery pastries in corner cafes.  It was exhilarating.  Signs written in Italian seemed happily mundane when compared to the confusion of letters and symbols I had tried to decipher in Chinese, Thai, Nepali or Turkish.

Later that morning I made my way by metro to the Milan Cathedral. 

Construction on the site began in 1386 and continued with starts and stops through 1965.  While I think the Cathedral has to be one of the most beautiful on Earth, apparently, this view is not universally held.   In my support, I offer the opinion of Mark Twain who wrote:

“What a wonder it is! So grand, so solemn, so vast! And yet so delicate, so airy, so graceful! A very world of solid weight, and yet it seems ...a delusion of frostwork that might vanish with a breath!... The central one of its five great doors is bordered with a bas-relief of birds and fruits and beasts and insects, which have been so ingeniously carved out of the marble that they seem like living creatures-- and the figures are so numerous and the design so complex, that one might study it a week without exhausting its interest...everywhere that a niche or a perch can be found about the enormous building, from summit to base, there is a marble statue, and every statue is a study in itself...Away above, on the lofty roof, rank on rank of carved and fretted spires spring high in the air, and through their rich tracery one sees the sky beyond. ... (Up on) the roof...springing from its broad marble flagstones, were the long files of spires, looking very tall close at hand, but diminishing in the distance...We could see, now, that the statue on the top of each was the size of a large man, though they all looked like dolls from the street... They say that the Cathedral of Milan is second only to St. Peter's at Rome. I cannot understand how it can be second to anything made by human hands.” 

Not too bad.

In the detractors column, I would place John Ruskin (a seemingly snobbish art critic of the Victorian era), who noted:

“[the cathedral steals] from every style in the world: and every style spoiled. The cathedral is a mixture of Perpendicular with Flamboyant, the latter being peculiarly barbarous and angular, owing to its being engrafted, not on a pure, but a very early penetrative Gothic … The rest of the architecture among which this curious Flamboyant is set is a Perpendicular with horizontal bars across: and with the most detestable crocketing, utterly vile. Not a ray of invention in a single form… Finally the statues all over are of the worst possible common stonemasons’ yard species, and look pinned on for show.”

… and Oscar Wilde who wrote to his mother that:

"The Cathedral is an awful failure. Outside the design is monstrous and inartistic. The over-elaborated details stuck high up where no one can see them; everything is vile in it; it is, however, imposing and gigantic as a failure, through its great size and elaborate execution."

Despite these contrasting views, I found the Cathedral to be magnificent.  The exterior is dripping in ornamentation. 

No stone is merely a stone, as every surface seems to be the pedestal for a unique sculpture.  This can all be appreciated in great detail by paying for the well-worth-it ticket to the top of the cathedral where you can wander among the buttresses, stand face to face with saints and apostles and have your picture taken on the center of the roof. 

I next toured La Scala which was only a few blocks away.  The beautiful La Scala is recognized as one of the leading opera and ballet theatres in the world.  Since 1778, La Scala has been the stage for some of the most talented musicians ever to have lived.  Despite its importance, because I was unable to see a performance at the venue, it was a little like receiving an empty Rolex box for a present.

On my way back to the metro, I opted not to spin around on the mosaic bull scrotum located on the floor of one of the shopping galleries, thus failing to pocket the free good luck that is promised to the willing whirlers.

That afternoon I hopped on the train to Bolzano, with a transfer in Verona (hello Romeo & Juliet).  From Verona to Bolzano, the train begins to enter the Italian Alps.  The Dolomites were what had drawn me to Italy. 

They are a particularly stunning mountain range that runs between Austria and Italy.  Because the area they occupy was once a part of Austria, it has a uniquely Tyrolean feel, from the alpine meadows, to wooden chalets, to apfel stroedel.  It also has fantastic pizzas.  (How I’ve missed bread!)  German is frequently spoken and most of the towns carry both Italian (Bolzano) and German (Bozen) names.

Bolzano is a beautiful, historic town, which in addition to the large, open parks, flower boxes, rivers and cobblestone streets, is also home to the South Tyrol Archeological Museum where Ötzi lives.  Discovered on a glacier north of Bolzano in 1991, Ötzi the Iceman is one of the world’s oldest mummies (about 3,000 B.C.).  He had already spent 600 years encased in ice before the Egyptian pharaoh Cheops began construction of his famous pyramid.   Ötzi’s natural preservation (as opposed to an embalming) has provided the world with a rare, detailed snapshot of the Stone Age in Europe.
 
In this setting I heard one of the most cynical comments of my trip.  While walking on a path next to the river, I was approached by a cyclist who asked for directions.  While searching for my map I gushed, “Isn’t this place gorgeous?!”  The man responded, “Well, I am from Poland and compared to our mountains, these hills seem rather boring.”  Really?  What sort of person could be “bored” by this scenery?  As he cycled away … past the castle surrounded by the vineyard … I could only shake my head incredulously.

On Tuesday morning I took the quick bus ride to Ortisei (St. Ulrich).  From here I took the Seceda Cable car to the jump-off point for my hike. 

I love hiking in the Alps because (i) numerous cable cars whisk you quickly to the mountain tops, (ii) the scenery is possibly unparalleled, (iii) trails are well-marked and accessible, and (iv) you can pick up a hot chocolate every few hours at one of the small cottages or refuges along the trails …  oh, and (v) no bears! 

This day was exactly (except for the somewhat heavy cloud cover) what I hoped it would be.  It was a long (mostly easy to moderate) hike through green alpine meadows, over exposed limestone passes and ending with a long, steep descent into the valley below to Selva (Wokenstein). 

Lucky alpinist bovine

Stone "graffiti" along the trail 

From there, I caught the bus back to Bolzano.

On Wednesday the 27^th, I packed my bags and caught the bus to Castelrotto (Kastelruth).  Could this area get any nicer?!  This tourist town sits in the middle of vast green meadows and is guarded over by a fairytale, onion-domed bell tower at the base of which is a romantic public fountain.  Wow, wow, wow! 

With no time to waste, I made my way (short bus ride to Siusi, followed by a long aerial cableway ride, in fact, the world’s longest such ride) to Compaccio. 

My destination was the Alpe di Siusi, the largest high-Alpine meadow in Europe.  The scenery was not quite as dramatic as the day before, nor was the weather as clear, but the “meadow” (it’s vast) was, nevertheless, breathtaking … at least until all of the views were obscured by a heavy rain.

And this is why we are glad for small restaurants dotting the hillside serving delicious hot chocolate.

I took the cableway back to Siusi where I walked back to Castelrotto, down country roads, through grass pastures and past onion-domed churches, all the while asking myself, how is it that some people actually get to live in places like this. 

St. Valentine Church, built in 1244

On Thursday, I returned to Bolzano where I caught the train to Como in Italy’s famous Lake District.  Given what I had just seen, I have to confess that Como, despite (and perhaps as a result of) its fame, seemed a little overrated (Oh no!  Was I becoming the Polish cyclist?)  It’s possible that I just needed to get off the beaten path.  I would love to return someday when I have a little more time.     

Rainbow directly over Como

Friday was spent walking Como’s streets, visiting its historical sites and taking a lake cruise before heading back to Milan where I caught the flight to Stockholm. 

Arrivederci Italia!