Stockholm (Kids Stuff)

The flight into Arlanda International Airport and subsequent commuter train ride into Stockholm proper are lost in the fog of jet lag.  But the shock of sunlight as the escalator ejected Jamie and me out at street level from the train platform below jolted the senses back to life and the search for our hotel began.  Now, a few short years ago, this task would have been daunting.  Just understanding which way is north would challenge every instinct.  If that weren't enough, language barriers would intimidate the most adventurous traveler.  But a few short years have rendered all that mere afterthought.  An invention of the impossible has become the ordinary if not the extraordinary - the smartphone ascended from the "perfect storm" of technologies.  A tap of the "Maps" application results in a little blue dot establishing our exact location on the map.   Then entering the name of our hotel presents a big red "pin".  Somehow, a tiny arrow attached to the blue dot swivels its aim intently at the direction the phone is facing in relationship to magnetic north.  Easy.  Peasy.  Done.  Unfortunately, yours truly, inevitably insists upon proceeding in a direction that can only be attributed to an innate inner compass honed in the real world reality of travels past.  Well, at this point, Jamie vocalizes a few misgivings but humors me nonetheless.  Off we go.

After walking a block or two, it's our habit to check the "Maps" app again.

"Oh, oh...this doesn't seem right.  Are we in some sort of dead zone?"  I puzzle while scanning the glimpses of sky peeking between the high rise buildings in search of some sort of visible radio signal.  Returning my gaze to the phone, I resign.  "That blue dot is now farther away from the red pin than before.  I don't see how but we must be going the wrong way.  You were right."

I think Jamie allows the whole episode to happen just so she can hear those three magic words.

Nonetheless, we arrived and for the next two days explored the city.  We boarded double decker buses to see some of the sights from above.  Drivers expertly, make that miraculously, carved their way through the hustle and bustle of the crowds.

Tourists en masse, many of whom had most assuredly arrived on the ever revolving flotilla of cruise ships, each the size of a mid-size city, that lined the various port access points.  The current day luxury liners loom in stark contrast to the 17th century warship Vasa which is housed in a maritime museum of the same name.  In 1628, the ship capsized in Stockholm harbor a mere stones throw into her maiden voyage.  Top heavy, the 64 gun warship, keeled over when the first gust of wind pressed her sails.  Salvaged in 1961, she now rests enclosed, high and dry.  A testimony to man's penchant for creativity and beauty while giving witness to our hubris and contentious tendencies in the same breath.

Next up, the Nobel Museum.  Here we learned about many of humanity's greatest minds and their contributions in chemistry, physics, economics, literature, peace, and medicine. I was stunned when I read about three nanotechnologists who won the 2016 Nobel Prize in Chemistry for building miniature machines out of molecules.  Think about that for a second.

As we exited the Royal Palace we were not only lucky enough to stumble upon the changing of the guard but were carried along by the crowd to a front-row viewpoint as well.  Up close, the faces of most of the participants were young.  Very young.  Stark reminders that all empires build their foundations on the bedrock of their youth.  Sobering truths confronting an old man on vacation.

For variety, water taxis zipped us between various districts of the city as they plied the waterways amongst an assortment of watercraft that boggles the mind in number if not description.

But most fun of all, the out-of the-way back alleys of Old Town and the main promenades of the shopping district on foot.

A last-night seafood dinner at a sidewalk cafe included a bread basket comprised of hardtack along with Swedish Limpa orange-rye bread - tastes that had laid dormant on my mind for sixty plus years.  Flavors that triggered long ago images of a hunched, gray haired woman.   Aromas that kindled warm memories of my widowed, maternal grandmother - Esther Desideria Carlson Anderson.  A maternal forebear who was frail yet strong.  Dressed in drab yet cheerful.  Alone yet loving.  A woman who left everything she knew to journey half way across the globe in search of something called Amerika.  All at the ripe old age of 17.  Mercy.  

After supper Jamie and I strolled over to the harbor's edge.  We found the perfect bench to take in the sights of the waterway still bustling even as the shadows lengthened.  The soft summer breeze coming off the water calmed the senses.  The gentle lapping quieted our thoughts and we sat in silence for a time.  Simply blessed in the moment.

Then Jamie asked, “Do you think your Grandfather was ever here in Stockholm?”

The question probed unexpectedly deep and I pondered the question for a second before responding. 

"......I have no idea.....I disappoint myself with how little I know about him......I can only imagine.......Those boats........". 

But even as the words were forming my mind lapsed into the distance.  An enigma welled up.  A man named Andrew.  Esther's husband who died long before I was born.  I wonder of him now and again.  Father.  Boatbuilder.  Musician.  Adventurer.  Man of God.  Those simple labels are all that remain.  His mystery shrouded in time is profound.  The wonder......  

"You did it again."  Jamie interrupted.

"Did what?" I puzzled.

"You didn't finish your sentence."  

"What sentence?"

"Something about boats."  She said with a little frustration added in for effect.

"Oh...yeah...boats....That sloop over there is really beautiful, isn't she?"