I write here mainly to record the odd events over the past week, as recreating them accurately from memory may be a bit difficult. It doesn't include much of the fun stuff, more just the logistics of the van there.
Perhaps start in Tallinn, on our last day there before taking the ferry to Stockholm. We had a 5pm ferry, so we went to Kadriog (sp?) park for the day (a small playground so the kids could run around). We loaded all our stuff into the van and drove there. Across from the playground the sign clearly said "no parking" (in icon form), but everyone was parking there. It was Saturday, so we figured there was some exception and went ahead and parked there. Needless to say, when we returned at 3pm the van was gone. Initial panic, and then, yeah, it was towed. You can't park there.
Now there was a bit of a time crunch, to get everyone to the ferry, not to mention getting the van back. I grabbed my passport, a cell phone and a copy of the ferry ticket and told everyone else to go to the ferry. Tears were shed, but I shifted into problem solving mode.
Needless to say, what followed was not as dramatic as it could be. Tiia's cousin Evelyn was called and located the car at an impound lot curiously located right next to the ferry. I was going to take a train there and retrieve it, but as I was looking for a taxi she called and said she was driving by and could give me a ride. She picked me up, we drove to the lot, and they had me sign a few things, pay for the towing ($40). I didn't owe a fine since I'm a guest. I followed Evelyn's little car to the ferry with plenty of time to spare. No problem. Tanya called me, and I met them on the ferry, where we had a drink and an opulent dinner (and breakfast). To Sweden.
Stockholm was amazingly beautiful. I hadn't realized exactly what it was about... but it's worth the trip.
Skip a few days ahead... Juri and my dad have flown off, and we've headed south to Vimmerby and Hultsfred. Our Palace Hotel doesn't really live up to its name. Once we determine that strange smell of the room isn't a previous inhabitant (but some aged cheese we brought along), and we meet the hotel owners, things are warmer and friendlier (although still a bit of a ghost town). Astrid Lundgren's Varld is great fun for all, and we fine an old mine the next day that is fun to explore (for the kids at least). All's good and we head of for Göteborg.
We plan a nice stop half way and the town is nice and we locate a great playground in the park. Kids are nuts, though, and as we are almost there Tanya screeches to a halt and asks the kids to be quiet. The car is in the middle of a single-lane road, and once the kids settle down the van won't start. Tanya and the girls run off to the playground and Tiia and I stay to sort out the van. A few minutes pass and the van starts again. I drive ahead and park in the lot, assuming it was a fluke. But when I try to start it again, it won't start. Maybe we have a real problem.
A few more tries and it does start, so we head off to find this Avis office (with a quick stop at a hotel and the tourist bureau). After negotiating all sorts of construction re-routing, we find the Avis office but it's closed for no apparent reason and no one answers the phone number (which is presumably ring inside the empty office). We decide to go back and get the kids and drive to our hotel in Göteborg without turning off the car, and deal with it there. We go off and pick everyone off and we're on the road (again).
We get the van into a parking garage and it indeed won't start again. Avis is responsive here and (although the Estonia office wasn't that helpful), and they send someone who eventually has the car towed. We all head off to Liseberg for the day, and no progress is made. I decide to spend the day hounding them so that we can leave that day, and call repeatedly. Tanya et al go off to the science museum and have a good time. Finally at 2pm the starter is replaced and they send an Avis employee to drive me to the car. He's nice (and talkative), and he gets me the car. On our drive back, he notices one of the headlights is out and ends up sending me back to the Chrysler dealer who can replace it. He was happy to drive me out there, but now wants to get on with his day and (understandably) leaves me on the outskirts. This repair really is easy, and I quickly find my way back to our hotel. I have an hour before I need to meet Tanya, so I watch a few games of "handball", and have a snack at the French bakery... small pleasures. I grab the car and we're off again for Ene's house in the countryside.
On our way out of town the car starts behaving strangely: a big jerk while we're on the road. There is lots of traffic, but once we get out of town we notice some of the lights have gone berserk and the car doesn't shift out of its low gear. Top speed is about 50-60km/hour (dials aren't working so it's hard to say for sure). After just a little debate, we (I) decide to just proceed to Ene's house, as slow as it is, as we have no better option if we head back. I am careful watching the temperative gauge (which is working) and the RPMs so I don't blow anything up. Slow going but we arrive in less than 3 hours (for a 1 hour trip?).
The house is beautiful... in the country with their own lake. Jörgen wants to take the girls fishing and they are very excited about that. They fix an opulent meal and we all go to bed.
The next day is spent trying to get some assistance from the Avis people, from somewhere. Initially everything looks good, but then it's hard to keep a consistent conversation going, and the notion of "Avis" gets more and more amorphous as the day progresses. I try to hand off phone duty to Tanya (but I have trouble letting going), and she eventually befriends Elke, from the Estonian office, who can at least say definitively that they can't help us in Sweden. In the meantime someone finds a bus that takes us directly to the ferry terminal the next morning.
We wake up early (6am), load in the van, and head off for a 30km ride to the bus terminal. The van is initially "cured", but then quickly reverts to just low gear, and then even less. It is having trouble staying in any gear at all and gets slower and slower. We have agreed to leave the car at the ICA supermarket across from the bus terminal, and I pull into the parking lot. Given then number of bags, it seems nice to drive over and drop them off at the terminal, but as I pull out the car belches, as if on its last breath, and so I immediately make a U-turn in the middle of the street and return to the ICA parking spot. I can carry the bags but not the van.
Needless to say, the bus ride was rather relaxing. It would be nice to have some vacation that is car-free, as it's more relaxing in a way. We had lots of fun times along the way... this is just the van's story.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Blomsterhult
Today my dad guided us to a third cousin of his, Curt, who lives on the old family farm. We set off after the buffet breakfast for a small town. Google had reported it one place, but the printed map and Curt's directions agreed on a location, so, a rarty in the modern world, I threw away Google's advice.
Anyway, we set off from Stockholm and made our way through some construction on the freeways, but quickly were out in the country of green rolling hills and red barns-- you've seen the pictures. It was beautiful, but the highway speeds definitely detracted a bit from the beauty. Once we broke off the freeway we went on slower, more intimate roads and were able to appreciate it more. As we got nearer and nearer (or had we missed it), I got more excited, and then suddenly it was upon us. We turned left, waited for some you kids to drag their bikes off the dirt road, and were looking for the "second farm on the right". We arrived, and we all reached through the windows and shook hands with a man, who-- in a rare occurrence, turned out to not be a relative. We pulled over and parked by a barn, and then a different man came up and introduced himself as Curt, followed quickly by his wife. He immediately pointed the men towards the bushes where we could "wash up", while he took the women (and girls) into the house to use the running water.
We were quickly introduced to Curt's sister and his husband, and perhaps some more cousins. It's a bit of a blur to me now. Anyway, Curt, who is 75, took us into his summer house, which he'd been "summering at" since his childhood, as had his father. His father had done the same, and his grandfather had grown up there, as had my father's grandfather, who was born across the road in a similar house.
Turns out the Curt is retired, and is a bit of a "preservationist". He proudly showed us many original elements of the house. We went upstairs to the bedrooms and he pointed out where various people had lived. I'll admit I was a little uneasy with the slanted, wobbly floors, low ceilings and creaky everything. He then took us up into the attic, with its slantier floors, lower ceilings and I was not that interested in investigating the treasures tucked away there. I was checking the boards before I put my full weight down, calculating the distance to fall.
Curt's wife had prepared a "light" lunch of pasta, rolls, vegetables, and we devoured it. They were wonderful hosts.
Then Curt took my dad and me on a tour of the surrounding villages while Tanya and the girls went for a swim in the local lake. We visited the school where my dad's grandfather had gone to elementary school, and went into the unlocked town church. Then Curt graced us with a lovely Swedish hymn on the piano. Outside we found the grave of Per Persson of Blomsterhult, who is, I believe my great great grandfather.
We also saw the countryside and some other examples of the building there. It looks like individual farming as been abandoned-- we saw no farm animals at all-- but farms still exist for agricultural use, through large companies to some extent.
We returned and had "coffee" outside the house. Coffee was good and there was a lovely cardamom cake. (I think my girls ate all the biscuits in the whole commun). We talked for quite a while, but decided to leave, at which point we got a song on the according and organ, and many pictures pulled off the wall to show us.
We were finally off and it was a wonderful day. They were so friendly and don't know how I could possibly repay them, except by being lovely to everyone the rest of my life.
Anyway, we set off from Stockholm and made our way through some construction on the freeways, but quickly were out in the country of green rolling hills and red barns-- you've seen the pictures. It was beautiful, but the highway speeds definitely detracted a bit from the beauty. Once we broke off the freeway we went on slower, more intimate roads and were able to appreciate it more. As we got nearer and nearer (or had we missed it), I got more excited, and then suddenly it was upon us. We turned left, waited for some you kids to drag their bikes off the dirt road, and were looking for the "second farm on the right". We arrived, and we all reached through the windows and shook hands with a man, who-- in a rare occurrence, turned out to not be a relative. We pulled over and parked by a barn, and then a different man came up and introduced himself as Curt, followed quickly by his wife. He immediately pointed the men towards the bushes where we could "wash up", while he took the women (and girls) into the house to use the running water.
We were quickly introduced to Curt's sister and his husband, and perhaps some more cousins. It's a bit of a blur to me now. Anyway, Curt, who is 75, took us into his summer house, which he'd been "summering at" since his childhood, as had his father. His father had done the same, and his grandfather had grown up there, as had my father's grandfather, who was born across the road in a similar house.
Turns out the Curt is retired, and is a bit of a "preservationist". He proudly showed us many original elements of the house. We went upstairs to the bedrooms and he pointed out where various people had lived. I'll admit I was a little uneasy with the slanted, wobbly floors, low ceilings and creaky everything. He then took us up into the attic, with its slantier floors, lower ceilings and I was not that interested in investigating the treasures tucked away there. I was checking the boards before I put my full weight down, calculating the distance to fall.
Curt's wife had prepared a "light" lunch of pasta, rolls, vegetables, and we devoured it. They were wonderful hosts.
Then Curt took my dad and me on a tour of the surrounding villages while Tanya and the girls went for a swim in the local lake. We visited the school where my dad's grandfather had gone to elementary school, and went into the unlocked town church. Then Curt graced us with a lovely Swedish hymn on the piano. Outside we found the grave of Per Persson of Blomsterhult, who is, I believe my great great grandfather.
We also saw the countryside and some other examples of the building there. It looks like individual farming as been abandoned-- we saw no farm animals at all-- but farms still exist for agricultural use, through large companies to some extent.
We returned and had "coffee" outside the house. Coffee was good and there was a lovely cardamom cake. (I think my girls ate all the biscuits in the whole commun). We talked for quite a while, but decided to leave, at which point we got a song on the according and organ, and many pictures pulled off the wall to show us.
We were finally off and it was a wonderful day. They were so friendly and don't know how I could possibly repay them, except by being lovely to everyone the rest of my life.
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