Thanksgiving 2007 in Stockholm, Sweden

Christine and I traveled to Sweden for Thanksgiving. Mark's paternal grandparents are from Ludvika, just west of Stockholm. Christine's paternal great-grandmother, we now know, is Swedish and, if I've got this right, settled in Switzerland and later married into the Patrizio family.

Mark's point of view is that he's glad his grandfather Karl got out when he did. Nice place to visit but the people walk too fast (too cold?) and there is a lack of evidence that real men live in the city of Stockholm anymore, though if you care to notice there seems to be a real live Ingrid Bergman on every city block.

First thing we saw getting off the airport shuttle was good King Gustaf pointing at something. He's firmly planted in the King's Garden, a popular gathering place in the endless summer but somewhat deserted in the mid-day gloom of a gathering winter.

I didn't know that Swedes carried guns anymore. But here you have evidence: a young Navy man, providing security for the King's palace. For those of you with an interest, he's carrying an AK5, which is the Swedish version of an assault rifle, with certain modifications, mostly to adapt the weapon to the Swedish climate, which is downright cold most of the year. Mark chatted with the guard, and discovered the weapon doesn't take 7.62 ammo (like the AK47) but 5.56 ball ammo, same as the US M-16, pretty much a NATO standard now.

Here's Christine at a picturesque part of the old town - "Gamla Stan" - which is actually a small island smack in the middle of Stockholm. The Christmas Market was just starting it's month-long run, similar to the rest of Europe. Christine is pulling her suitcase as we walked from the bus station to our bed and breakfast, about a kilometer through the city. The city itself is stretched out over many islands, each of which has it's own identity.

And we finally arrived on the street where our comfy B&B was located. We stayed with a lady who lived in a small artist-only apartment complex. She had some dark and sober charcoal drawings, the obligatory nude pencil drawing or two, and some small statues. She had some clowns also, but they were sad. She lived alone, having divorced her alcoholic husband and would cook Mark breakfast and talk about all sorts of things while Christine slept in.

This is the beautiful little church across the street from our B&B on Hornsgatan Street. It's about 1500 (3pm) in the afternoon and the sun is about gone from the sky.

We dropped our bags in our room and headed back out to the city.

St. George slaying the Dragon, again. Looks like he's frozen, which is apt for Sweden in the winter. Cool pic though.

Walking back through the still deserted King's Garden. We went to the National Museum of Art, had some delicious soup and then toured the third floor painting gallery. Afterwards we found a nice restaurant not far from here where we shared our Thanksgiving meal together. Just the two of us.

This is before Christine bought a fur-lined cap and gloves.

But Mark had already found a nice wool hat, which makes him look like a reindeer driver.

A huge tourist attraction, and for good reason, is the fantastically preserved hulk of a warship that sank in 1628. On its maiden voyage it sailed all of 1000 meters and sank, right in front of the on-looking King, who was the cause of the mishap, having ordered a complete second deck of guns added, without modification to the ship's design. The result is that it was both top heavy and rode so low the lower gun decks couldn't clear the water when the breeze blew slightly, letting water in rapidly and sinking it within minutes. The ship was exhumed recently from the muck of the harbor, which along with the briny quality of the Baltic Sea preserved the ship and its artifacts during its 350 year entombment, and the Vasa Ship Museum was built around it.

To Mark's ironic sense of humor, one of the largest tourist attractions in Stockholm is a monument to a failed attempt to become a world power, a testament instead to the vanity and pride and ignorance of a silly King, and to the stupid slavish builders who warned him otherwise, but couldn't convince him not to build the thing, and so people died.

Still, it's a very cool museum.

The bones and preserved clothing of some sailors and un-lucky civilians are on display along with ship's guns, tools and ship's block and tackle. With wax museum-like quality some of the dead are brought back to life, realistically created using skeletons as a pattern. Curators have recreated the lives of some, such as Filip, a steersman who died at his post, trying in vain to turn the ship into the wind and save it.










Here's Christine with the wife of the designer. After he died, she took over. She's yelling at the workers up above.

Not many Vikings on display in Stockholm.

We grew tired of the tourist streets so we found this hideaway Thai restaurant. We were the only customers for awhile. Delicious food served in a cozy warm cellar.

By decree of the Queen, citizens can fish in the royal waters.

These two guys looked like warriors from the "Highlander" movies. Maybe they are time-traveling Vikings and found these leather coats to hide their swords and are wondering which store to pillage.

While in Stockholm, we met Mark's friend from Iraq, Tasheen. He's a retired Iraqi Army Colonel, British Royal Military Academy of Sandhurst graduate. After the regime's fall he served as a translator for Mark's unit in Baghdad the summer of 2003. He escaped with his family to Jordan in 2006 while he came to Sweden. When this picture was taken his wife and two girls had joined him just a few days prior. Sweden has granted asylum to all of them, along with a growing population of Iraqis. We went out to eat lunch together.

Tasheen's brother was married in Baghdad in the summer of 2003 in a Christian Assyrian Orthodox church. The priests chanted in Aramaic, the language Jesus spoke. Mark was a guest of honor. Tasheen's daughter (on the left) sang a Psalm to him, part of their nightly family devotionals. Small world, isn't it?

At the urging of Mark's brother Scott, we took the train north to Uppsala, the famous university city. We passed through some lonely looking woods with a light powder of snow.

We arrived early afternoon and found our way quickly through the city center to the University and the Cathedral.

The reason we traveled by train to Uppsala was to view the "Silver Bible."

This world-famous manuscript was written in silver and gold letters on purple vellum in Sweden about 520 (!). It contains fragments of the Four Gospels in the fourth-century Gothic language, which makes it the oldest extant scripture written in a Germanic language. Of the original 336 leaves there remain only 188. With the exception of one leaf, discovered in 1970 in the cathedral of Speyer in Germany, just south on Autobahn 5 from where we live, they are all preserved in Uppsala. The Silver Bible was taken from Sweden, finding its way to Essen, Germany and eventually to Prague, where it fell into Swedish hands during the Thirty Years' war in the 1600s, when the crusading Swedes reduced the population of Germany by over 30% and in some areas of Europe by one half. I used to remind our German neighbors in Pirkensee during our stay in the 1990's of this fact, and, not surprisingly, they knew of it. History here is close at hand. The library at Uppsala is full of loot, and it's nice that some of it belongs there.

Carl Linneaus is a world famous botanist, the founder of modern taxonomy and ecology. He was schooled and then taught at the University of Uppsala. I understand the garden walk to his home, among which he developed the modern notion of nomenclature, is quite a site to see. We didn't. Too dark. Swedes we met asked us, "Why did you come this time of year? You should come at midsummer!" "Oh no," Mark replied. "I want to see why my grandfather left this place." Still, there are some pretty smart Swedes, unlike their Kings, and Carl Linneaus deserves mention.

Ancient Christian iconography:

And a very well preserved Scroll of the book of Esther, in Hebrew:

Here is the light of my life, who warms my heart on a cold Swedish evening in Uppsala:

Two pics from the Cathedral in Uppsala. We've been to many in Europe, but this is one of the best. Not just because old king Gustaf and his wife are buried here, but it is truly breathtaking. Too bad no one goes here to pray anymore . . .

Running out of light early in the day, we left the Cathedral and found the large nearby cemetery. Mark had a mission to find the grave of Dag Hammerskold, the famous Swedish UN secretary who died in mysterious circumstances. There are many famous Swedes buried here: artists, poets, scientists. Maybe a Nordstrom or two, but unfortunately, we found none, as we didn't bring a flashlight. Here's the moon rising through the arch of a small masoluem in the middle of the cemetery.

Christine snacking on the bus ride back to the airport. She bought a cute little "babushka" hat (what I call it - yes I know, in Russian it's a scarf or the diminutive for an older lady, but she's anything but old!!) because she was cold. I like it.

Christine also bought a pair of gloves. That's it: our Swedish souvenirs. I'll take the pretty Italian home with me though.