Not Everyone was Blond

Day 2

Stockholm, Sweden

It was 2:43 and I was awake. I managed to close my eyes until 3:47, listening to Aunt Terrye’s soft snoring. Then I just stared out the glass doors of our cabin on the cruise ship, past the balcony, past the mirrored water, past the amusement park with all the roller coastery rides, and on into the black night. I thought and thought and thought some more, all snuggly and warm in my bed until daylight rolled around.

We got on a bus and took a tour around Stockholm. Here’s a cool building, and there’s another one, and there’s a ton of history in this area here, the guide guy said.

Oooh! That guy is going to pedal uphill! Some lady said.

Lots of ooh’s and ahhh’s and everyone took a look at the poor cyclist with more interest than they had the buildings.

Surprisingly, not everyone was blond. And surprisingly, everyone was polite. No one ran me over with their bicycle, no one cursed at me in any Scandanavian language.

Only one set of military looking guys plowed me over on the street, but I was hogging the road, so what were they supposed to do? Oh and I almost took out some other tourist while I was backing up to take a photo of a cool door. They made fun of me all the way down the cobblestone road…but what were they supposed to do either?

Tourists are easily spotted by the girth of their waists. The people of Stockholm are trim and slim and muscular from biking and walking and sailing everywhere. Cris Craft boats crammed into tiny spaces – permanent living spaces getting tossed around in the waves during bad weather. Turning your stomach over. Maybe freezing into place in the winter. There’s hardly any salt in the water. You can drink it, so it will definitely freeze.

That’s what you get from a place that’s stayed out of war for over 200 years. Continuing kindness, a nice sense of humor, and lots of smiling. Some of the happiest people in the world. They take care of each other, and they’d take care of us too and I felt it in the way they moved. The way they communicated. The genuine way they looked into your eyes when they spoke. Plus they throw in a lot of duplicate letters into random words just for fun. Oh the fun!

I could live here for a gazillion years.

Spires looking at me from over here and over there. Guarding the city, inspiring the city, enhancing the skyline. Enhancing life.

The houses are all beautiful ambers and sages and muted browns. Light peaches and tans and burnt umbers. The colors of my heart.

Aunt Jan plowed through shops on a search for the most perfect twelve butter knives, Aunt Terrye plowed through the streets taking All The Photos. Mom took photos and shopped for Wooden Horse Christmas Ornaments. I wandered around with them and after them, complaining and muttering frequently about the evil of consumerism and the un-necessity of it all.

Except then I found an original painting I loved the moment I saw it, so I spent too much money on it and paraded it around back to the boat, all consumery and proud.

The ship left the dock with a bunch of fanfare and music and guys gliding around with trays of champagne and flutes of mixed juices.

We silently slipped through 27,000 islands of the archipelagos with glorious homes peeking out of the trees on their own islands.

I went ahead and selected a few for myself.