Staying near the train station allowed us to shake ourselves out of bed at 5:45. Since we’d be too early for the breakfast buffet at the hotel anyway, this was our version of sleeping in. By 6:15, we were at the central train station for our brief 40-minute ride to Uppsala to the north.

Things to notice in this photo: Caroline is holding a cup of coffee, which will accompany the Kardemummabullar and the Kanelbullar in the paper bag at the top of her purse. She is wearing a wool undershirt beneath her huipil, and her sweater is draped over her arm. This morning’s temperature was in the low 40s (5.5 Celsius), with the promise of localized flooding over the course of the day. We are entering the 1st class car because even for a short ride, it’s nice to know that professional bonbon eaters seem to specialize in riding at the front of the train.

It doesn’t look like rain is on the horizon to us either, but it was cold. Speaking of cold, I’ve typically provided distances, weights, and temperatures in Imperial and Metric measurements for years, and today we are visiting the city where Anders Celsius was born and hope to be able to pay homage to him, should we find a monument to his memory. Uppsala also is the home of Carl Linnaeus, the father of modern taxonomy. More about him later.

Most people haven’t yet started to stir on this early Sunday morning, and here we are at 7:15 already in Uppsala. The original reason behind this visit was that I’d read there would be a good number of runestones here; little did I know that we’d have already seen nearly half a dozen of these Viking-age monuments. And while there’s still plenty to see in Stockholm, even if we’d have canceled this side trip, we still couldn’t have seen a fraction of what’s to be appreciated in Sweden’s capital city. Now we need to venture out and make our way to Gamla Uppsala, and if you’ve not realized it yet, Gamla means old.

Rarely, though, is anything as simple as A = B with us, though, in some way, it seems that way if you were in our heads. Sure, we’re essentially on our way to Gamla Uppsala, but there are things between us and our destination, so the equation might be better written as A(a1+a2 / a3 x a4) + B(b1 x b2 + b3²) = P(A∪B). Or, in simpler terms, we’ll do stuff after getting to a place, we’ll deviate if our attention is drawn into a distraction, and then maybe we’ll reach our destination and do other stuff that was known or unknown to us prior to our arrival, but in the end, everything will be great.

This might have just one more building that caught my eye, but I tried searching for a similar image and stumbled upon Lady Dandelion’s now-neglected blog, where she took a nostalgic walk across the Uppsala University campus after graduating and identified this particular house as the Department of Law.

This is Uppsala Cathedral, and it’s not open yet. You might notice some curvature on the right side of the photo for which I should apologize because it is distorting the view, but this is an assemblage of 16 different shots I took as the cathedral was too big for my lens. As a panorama, however, it turned out acceptable from my perspective. Since we’re too early, we’ll look around for something else that’s holding our interest and come back here in a bit.

Prior to leaving the United States, minus the runestone embedded in the building in Stockholm, we assumed it would be here in Uppsala that we would first see these 1000-year-old inscribed stones in the wild, so to say. This one reads, “Björn and Brand had this stone carved for their father Karlung, and Kättilbjörn for his brother. Öpir carved the runes.”

There are more runestones here, but we need to get over to the cathedral as they open so we can get moving to the north of town. As for the translation of this inscription, it reads, “Ríkr/Rekkr/Hringr and Holti and Fastgeirr, they had … the stone in memory of Vígmarr, their father, a good captain. Líkbjôrn carved.”

The doors to the cathedral have opened, and we are quick to enter as we don’t know when services might begin, which is likely considering it’s Sunday. This is the tallest church in the Nordic countries, standing at 118.7 meters (389 feet). Construction of this church began in 1272 over the site of a stone church that once stood here and was the location where King Eric IX died, helping cement his legacy and earning him the title of Patron Saint of Sweden, but I’m getting ahead of myself as I didn’t learn of this until well after our visit.

Two days ago, on the day of our arrival in Stockholm, I wrote about the orientation of cathedrals and how Storkyrkan, like other churches that adhere to this design principle, places the sanctuary to the east and the entry doors to the west, allowing the early morning sun to illuminate the church and visitors to experience the views exemplified by this series of photos.

All three of the first images here were taken as I got closer to the altar, and while one of them should have sufficed, I couldn’t help but use them all as I believe each portrays a beauty unique from the other.

A devastating fire raged through the cathedral in 1702, requiring new stained glass and frescoes. If any of the original survived, I don’t have that information.

While there are three queens buried in this tomb, only the first two queens of King Gustav I are featured in the memorial marble carving along with the king himself, as the third queen was still alive at the time her husband died.

The grave monument to King Gustav I is in the cathedral’s front chapel, which was once known as the Chapel of the Virgin Mary but was renamed the Vasa Chapel. It was right here at the Uppsala Cathedral that Gustav Vasa was crowned king as were most monarchs from the time of the Middle Ages until 1719. King Gustav I ruled for 37 years, longer than any other Swedish monarch besides the current monarch, King Carl XVI Gustaf.

What exactly was this that I photographed near King Gustav I’s tomb? I’m tempted to write someone at the cathedral to determine what this was from, but I’ve already spent countless hours researching details about this vacation, and in the scheme of things, exactly who is ever going to look to this website to learn about a gold-faced angel that is part of a larger plate? If I were to talk to lady dandelion, who I referenced earlier, she’d likely tell me I might be surprised.

A stroke of luck bumped into me the following day when I returned to this post. I was reading further details about the cathedral where it spoke of the Patron Saint of Sweden, King Eric IX, prior to mentioning that this was the resting place of King Gustav I. I thought this was odd because if Gustav Vasa was the first true king of Sweden, why did King Eric receive top billing? So I followed an embedded link to the story of Eric and came across a photo of his relic casket that had me thinking about this photo right here. One of the images in the articles had just enough detail that I could confirm that I had captured but a tiny piece of the reliquary.

Okay, this is just too many photos shared from this cathedral, but what is a person to do when this type of architecture speaks to their heart? When Notre Dame was devastated by fire, Paris and France had no choice but to restore it as it is one of the major tourism draws that round out a number of architectural wonders that bring visitors by the millions to the City of Light, but what of these cathedrals only a rare few ever visit? Maybe Uppsala Cathedral would be rebuilt as a matter of national pride due to its storied history to Swedes, but will another cathedral of such majesty ever be undertaken again?

Being the son of King Gustav I obviously had its perks, as witnessed by the monumental tomb of King John III. This has me thinking that I might like such an extravagant eternal resting place. It makes for a good argument that we should be teaching our children tools such as ZBrush or 3DCoat sculpting software so they can learn how to craft such ornate virtual tombs for their parents and themselves. Then again, wishing for society at large to begin adapting to complexity is like asking the man buried under all that marble to return to life.

The repose of King John III must be one of the most chill and casual of all tomb carvings ever made, as I’ve never seen a person of such royal lineage looking like he’s taking a nap after a hard day on the throne. The angels holding his armor and shield while waiting for the king to wake and return to battle is a nice touch.

Often more opulent than an altarpiece, the pulpit, also called an ambon at times, is set to the left side of the church and played a more important role in the church prior to the advent of electronic systems capable of amplifying the clergy presenting scripture.

Note to John and Caroline: next time in Europe, be sure to visit the Basilica of Saint-Pierre-aux-Nonnains in Metz, France, and the Cathedral of St. Peter in Trier, Germany, which are both from the early 4th century and the Aachen Cathedral in Germany that features one of the oldest pulpits still in existence. All three locations are about 2 to 4 hours away by train from Frankfurt.

I couldn’t fault anyone who might arrive at the conclusion that I’m on a pilgrimage to visit an inordinate number of churches, which is quickly approaching 20 such buildings, but I’d say that I’m simply gravitating towards the center of where European life congregated to find unity for the better part of 1,000 years.

Caroline the Navigator had us going every which way as we tried to find a public transportation spot where we could catch a bus or tram to Gamla Uppsala. Well, at least that’s what she was deciphering on her phone. We ended up walking in what felt like circles, with the stop proving elusive, so looked for a trail that would allow us to walk.

We are now walking out of Uppsala proper on our way to Gamla Uppsala, and with only an hour’s walk, we’ll certainly beat any rain that might show up, which doesn’t look like it’s really in the forecast anymore.

We are in love with our walk across the Swedish countryside and once again can’t get over our good fortune of being in the right place at the right time. We walk hand in hand, tell one another how much we are in love, and stop to look around incredulous that these are the sights in rural Sweden. This is not the first time we have exclaimed such things; we do this dozens of times a day as an hour doesn’t go by before we are reminded by another exquisite moment that we are living a charmed life.

Signs along the way denote that we are traveling the Eriksleden pilgrimage and Linnaeus trails. Regarding the Linnaeus part of the trail, these were the paths that Carl Linnaeus used as an educator to take his students into the places where he studied nature while creating his ideas about taxonomy. The particular locations that warrant greater study are called herbations.

The wool shirts and Caroline’s sweater are now a burden as the weather couldn’t be better for a long walk into history.

These burial mounds are the primary reason we’ve walked out here. In reading about the area, it’s been inhabited for about 2,000 years, ever since it rose above sea level. I had to read that last part twice but I read it right. You see, most of Sweden has been experiencing what is known as isostatic rebound or post-glacial rebound, where land that was once situated considerably lower due to the weight of ice-age sheets of ice have been rising and is still doing so. While Gamla Uppsala lies 25 meters or 82 feet above sea level today, Stockholm, where we are staying, sits only about 28 meters (92 ft) above sea level, and to its east, more than 24,000 islands and islets are still emerging from the sea.

While these three Royal Mounds are the most obvious burial sites, there were between 2,000 and 3,000 at one point, but the majority were plowed under to make way for farmland. The mounds are considered Sweden’s oldest national symbols, dating to between the 5th and 6th centuries. In Norse mythology, this is the burial site of Thor, Odin, and Freyr.

Another 4th mound was supposed to be the site of where the annual Disting occurred, an annual market and fair that coincided with the observation of Dísablót. This observation was held in honor of the female spirits or deities but was also the time when the “Ting of all Swedes” took place. A “Ting” was essentially a council or assembly meeting where community leaders gathered to discuss trade, legal, and military functions and dates back to early Roman times. As a side note, I also read that the German word for Tuesday, Dienstag is related to the “Ding.”

When I was planning our trip, I thought this was the Old Church of Gamla Uppsala and that it was a stave church. In my cursory glancing at stuff about places, I missed that this was the old bell tower of the church and could not be visited. What is this attraction to ancient structures, art, words, and sounds that draw us humans in to find secrets and mysteries from our ancestors’ pasts? It is as if we are wishing for something to speak out from our distant history, where echoes of the past are waiting just for us.

While popular mythology (tourism bait?) appears to enjoy the idea that about 1000 years ago, there may have been a pagan temple here, modern archeology says that’s not true and instead points to evidence of two prior stone churches that once stood on this site. What is undeniable is that Gamla Uppsala once played a large role in Swedish politics, religion, and economy, which you could easily imagine if it were true that gods were interred here. Up until the 12th century, when the Uppsala Cathedral was built, the coronation of kings took place right here in Gamla Uppsala at a temple, according to 11th-century chronicler Adam of Bremen.

Let’s return then to this idea of a pagan temple standing here: there are conflicting stories that state that postholes and log lines have been discovered that support the accounts from Adam of Bremen and Snorri Sturluson. I’ve read that this temple was burned down by King Inge the Elder in the 1080s, which has me wondering if the denial of a temple here in Gamla Uppsala is to support ideas of Christianity while denying a Norse/Viking/Pagan past.

Inside the church, a red carpet runs the length of the nave, and beneath it is the grave of Anders Celsius. It’s not covered to deny visitors from seeing it, but in order to protect it from being worn away by our footsteps. King Eric IX was once buried here, too, until he was moved south to the cathedral in Uppsala.

By the way, this visit to the Gamla Uppsala Church marks the 20th house of the Lord we’ve visited on this trip, although with a few of them, we could only peek in or had to content ourselves with views from the outside as the doors were locked. I count them all because it’s like graves; we don’t get to look into those either, but we have visited them all the same and most people would accept that as truth.

Some things must simply remain a mystery. When whatever secrets or information about certain details cannot be found, there will be nothing to learn, nothing to share, and so it is with this obviously old fresco.

The complex here at Gamla Uppsala, taken as a whole, is incredible and well worth the visit, but the museum is rather light on artifacts. With no other fees to visit the mounds and church, this felt like a worthy donation to the upkeep of this historic corner of Sweden.

I collect visual souvenirs, never knowing which ones of the thousands will appeal to me after the end of the adventure and so it is with this helmet. If there was a data sheet about the piece regarding where it was found or who it might have belonged to, I missed it. Searching for information, I found a single source online implying it belonged to early King Eystein Adilsson, who lived 75 kilometers (46 miles) west of here, but that source was a genealogy and the author’s attempt to create dreams of distant relations by posting an image of this armor seemed like a stretch. There are no other supporting sources supporting this claim, leaving me to believe this information is fake. It’s a shame that this is our state of the internet, where history is whatever somebody says it is. Now I can try and reflect on how many bunk “facts” I’ve tossed into the maelstrom of the past.

As we were leaving the museum, we asked one of the women about a runestone we had read was here at the church. She told us that it can be found mounted in one of the exterior walls of the Old Church. The rune translates to, “Sigvid the Englishman [erected] this stone in memory of Vidjärv, [his] father…”

Next to the church and museum, there’s a wonderful old wooden house that plays host to Odinsborg Restaurant where we took lunch today. The open-faced sandwich might not be called smørrebrød in Sweden, but that doesn’t mean we won’t enjoy it as such. Sadly, I have to inform Caroline through this sentence right here that she missed the opportunity to try Odinsborg’s home-brewed mead served in Viking horn tankards.

The inside dining area of Odinsborg was mostly empty, with the majority of patrons sitting outside in the sun enjoying the perfect weather. After our shrimp-and-egg lunch, we shared a rhubarb torte with vanilla cream, and not able to exercise any self-control, I ordered a Belgian waffle with berry compote and whipped cream at the same time. That took a few minutes to prepare, so you might guess Caroline’s surprise when dessert number two showed up. Imagine mine when I realized that Belgian waffles are best enjoyed in Belgium.

This would be our first time on a Swedish bus, and whenever trying a form of transportation in a different country, there’s a trepidation if we have our duckies in a row, meaning tickets and destination. We’ve scored on this bus that promises to bring us to Valhalls vag and then a huge vag as though I’m old, I’m down with visiting exotic and foreign vag.

[John, could you be any more of an idiot with this childishness? Väg is pronounced “vay” and means road or way, NOT vagina, you infantile puerile old fart, while Huges might be referring to the name Hugo of Germanic origin. So the stop could be “Hugo’s Road” and consequently also be referencing the 12th century Bishop Henry of Uppsala, sometimes referred to as Henrik or Hugo – Caroline]

Oh really, Caroline, I just learned that David Chase, who created the Sopranos TV show, named the character of Salvatore “Big Pussy” Bonpensiero after he traveled this exact bus line and chuckled to himself about the reference to huge vagina! Just kidding. By the way, Topeliusgatan translates to “Taking the piss.”

In my trip planning, I’d seen that the Uppland Museum here in Uppsala was open from 12:00 until 5:00 today (a Sunday), so with time to spare, we dipped in. It is hardly a great museum and might even be considered a bit less than mediocre, but they are closing up shop in the next weeks to make way for new exhibits, so maybe there will be some improvement when next year rolls around. As for what’s in the photo, you should know by now that if there’s yarn in the image, it must have something to do with fiber arts (loom weights and spindle whorls). The coolest things about this museum might be the remnants of an old water mill in the Fyris River and that Ingmar Bergman shot the outside of the building as the bishop’s house in the film Fanny and Alexander.

This photo was pretty interesting, too, as we are seeing four generations of the monarchy. Prince Carl Gustaf, who would grow up to be King Carl XVI Gustaf is the baby at his christening on 7 June, 1946. King Gustaf V, his great-grandfather, is holding him. To the far left is Crown Prince Gustaf VI Adolf the King’s grandfather, and in finally behind the grandfathers is Heir Apparent Prince Gustaf Adolf, Carl’s father.

On the way back to Uppsala, we learned that there are other runestones aside from the ones we’ve already seen at the university. Only a couple of them were worth photographing, as a majority of the old Viking signs had wooden frames around them due to some kind of work going on in the area.

Our bus dropped us closer to the university than where we really wanted to go next, but our destination was only a 10-minute walk away, so everything was good. Plus, we’ve seen yet more runestones.

Our fingers are crossed that reasonable weather remains on our side as we enter the Linnaeus Gardens, and former summer home of the Carl Linnaeus family. Carl Linnaeus is the man who, a few hundred years ago, turned humanity on to taxonomies. The gardens and buildings here are effectively a museum to the efforts of this Swedish botanist, zoologist, taxonomist, and physician, of whom August Strindberg once said, “Linnaeus was, in reality, a poet who happened to become a naturalist,” while Goethe wrote: “With the exception of Shakespeare and Spinoza, I know no one among the no longer living who has influenced me more strongly.”

From botany to zoology, Linnaeus created the modern system of naming species. Take this: Moluccella laevis L., also known as Bells of Ireland. Moluccella is this plant’s genus, while laevis is the species, and finally, the trailing L is the initial of the person who named it, in this instance, that is Linnaeus himself. There is more to the taxonomic description involving family, order, clade, phylum, and kingdom, but the first two parts of the name will get you what you are looking for, while these additional descriptors arrived after Linnaeus offered us the structural foundation of taxonomy.

There were many plants in the garden that Linnaeus himself would have cultivated, along with small monkey shelters atop raised platforms as he also studied primates, but the overcast sky wasn’t conducive to capturing stunning images of the plants, so we turned our attention to the museum.

When this book titled Systema Naturae was first published in 1735, it was only 12 pages long, but by the 10th edition, it had grown to include 4,400 species of animals and 7,700 species of plants. Within two more editions, things had gotten so extensive that Linnaeus gave us the concept of the index card, which he required to track the growing volume of species he was naming.

I know that it was at the end of the travel season when we arrived here, and it’s Sunday, but there were very few visitors, which turned out nicely for us because we could linger, looking in on some of the things that this major contributor to science lived with and that inspired him.

The twinflower was Linnaeus’s favorite flower, and as such, it was named Linnaea borealis L. It is the flower that adorns this teapot that accompanied a tea service gifted to him from the Swedish School — I have no idea what Swedish school this refers to.

A lace-making table that would have been relatively commonplace among well-to-do households who had a need for fineries.

There are quite a few personal items in the museum, including preserved creatures in formaldehyde and the cane used by Linnaeus.

This is supposed to be the actual embroidered waistcoat worn by Linnaeus and not a recreation; it’s in incredibly good shape.

A glance back at the garden, and it was time to leave.

This is the Helga Trefaldighets Kyrka or Holy Trinity Church. This is the third church we were visiting on this day, possibly a record or at least a tie with some previous day.

There’s not much on the internet to share about this church; even the dates of construction and consecration are unknown. The best guess is it was built towards the end of the 13th century and consecrated in the very early 14th century, with the first mention of the church in 1302.

Another stroke of luck, a young student is practicing on the organ, the green cap he’s wearing shows that he’s an apprentice.

Even in the afternoon overcast light, the effect of natural light spilling into the church is dramatic. How could others not be drawn into such visual spectacles?

This mural by Albertus Pictor is certainly not a biblical scene as it appears more medieval to me; my half-educated guess is that it depicts the death of King Eric IX.

Sometimes, even the most simple scene can lend beauty and thoughtfulness to what would otherwise be plain.

Pull the old handle; it is now time to leave this place, too.

We walked into Peppar Peppar with low expectations as there was only one other table for two dinner guests occupied. True, we were early, having made a reservation for 5:00 on the first day of their reopening after their own summer holidays. And dinner was amazing on all fronts. We started with smoked deer cheesecake, which wasn’t a dessert but an incredibly yummy appetizer. Caroline ordered what was likely the cheapest thing on the menu with the warning that it would run out fast: fried herring, drawn butter, mashed potatoes, and lingonberry because in Sweden if a dish doesn’t arrive with lingonberry, it’s not really Swedish. The herring was so awesome that I asked the server about the preparation, and the kitchen actually shared it; here it is:

Marinate the herring filets in mustard and Crème fraîche for two days. Bread with dark flour, salt, and pepper. Fry in a neutral oil with lemon zest thrown in when adding the fish.

As for me, I ordered the reindeer filet and Västerbotten cheese terrine, chantarelles, cranberries, and game velouté. Afterward, we shared a dessert of Crème caramel with condensed milk, lemon thyme, and lingonberries. This restaurant is a treasure.

Train back to Stockholm, pack, skip the shower, and sleep. Tomorrow in the early morning, we depart for a nearly six-hour train ride to Oslo, Norway. This vacationing thing can be exhausting.

A funny thing about this language puzzle is how quickly it exposes the idiot that still dwells within me. I’m drawn in due to my puerility because, for me, the word “Skum” triggers a second glance and a chuckle about putting out a fire with scum. Now I have to stop and think, what is shot from a fire extinguisher? Foam is the answer, and that’s what the Swedish word Skum translates to, so this sign only brings attention to a fire extinguisher at this location in our hotel. It turns out that Skum is derived from the Middle Dutch word Schume meaning froth or foam, and that word originates from Proto-German Skuma, which means shallow ladle for removing scum (German: Schaum). Next, I will examine the etymology of the English word scumbag, which is slang for condoms.

While getting ready to take on the day, I’m taken by how fluid Caroline’s and my cooperation with each other is. Often in synch and moving toward a common goal, it’s a kind of dance we go through from the moment we first face each other upon waking up until we fall asleep. For this to work, there can be no taking advantage of each other. As those who know me are aware, I need not work for money, but I’m well aware that I cannot waste any time I am afforded in uncertainty or lack of productivity. I understand the rarity of the gift of time I can invest not only in myself but both of us. Whether I’m writing, reading, talking, or involved with some type of craft, I’m evolving – which, if I’m fortunate, will benefit the two of us. There is no time for TV, games, or professional sports as they are counterproductive and, in my view, destroy or at least harm one’s chance of finding real happiness. I do not live vicariously. I create new memories, share experiences, and, on occasion, revel in what we’ve been able to accomplish.

Yes, I’m an atheist, but that has never stopped me from looking for divinity in solemn places. I try to live in the moment but never stop searching for a sense of time in historic sites. I’ve seen things in ways that bring tears to my eyes, yet I’m always on the lookout for more because tears are not only about suffering.

I picked an apple from this tree hanging over the sidewalk only to find that it was a fall apple and needed another month or two to fully ripen. No matter, we shared the apple as we are not ones to throw food away, especially when it was taken while walking the streets of an urban area in a different country. As I’ve said somewhere else on this blog, we are unaccustomed to finding food in America’s cities that have been sterilized of things that are edible.

Our walk away from the hotel this morning had us dragging our bags to the Lund main train station to store them in a locker. We have tickets to Gothenburg, Sweden, with a departure time of 2:15 p.m., well after our checkout.

Triggered again! Is this a heroin bar (American slang: smack), snack bar, or ice cream shop? I had no idea that smak meant taste or flavor, but now that I do, I wonder if this is related to the German word schmecken. [It is indeed – Caroline] Visiting the Facebook page of this shop, I learned that it’s an ice cream parlor, a place to get a different kind of fix.

There seem to be buildings everywhere that belong to Lund University, but I guess that’s the way things have to work when you fit a university into a city that’s already 650 years old. The university was founded in 1666, and during the intervening 357 years, the school has continued to grow and is considered one of the top 100 universities on earth. This particular building is being utilized as part of the Kulturskolan or School of the Arts.

We don’t typically visit churches less than 500 years old, but we are making an exception today to visit the Allhelgonakyrkan (All Saints Church) consecrated in 1891. Just kidding, age has nothing to do with our decision to visit a church; only an open door stands between us and our visiting a house of worship.

Here we are in the sanctity of a space created for gathering, but we find ourselves alone. The idea is that those who enter these domains are looking to commune with the holy spirit, align their soul, or seek knowledge and compassion to comfort themselves or a loved one, and yet, time and again, the masses do not turn to the modern church because the thing that most satisfies what ails them is to be found in the form of cash.

Aside from tourist attractions and the occasional setting of a wedding, have our churches become relics of a time where belief was the primary vehicle for one’s life and these buildings the highway to deliverance? I cannot infer that there is nobody left who wants to worship and seek guidance because I certainly witness them taking a place in an otherwise empty pew and looking to heaven in prayer. By and large, though, visions of God are mostly gone and forgotten in a different age. Ears that at another point in history were tuned to hearing the collective prayers of others in pain and anguish in order to build community have fallen into deafness while simultaneously, we turn a blind eye to tragedies that are too great a burden for the souls of good capitalists. And yet, when it comes to riches, we all aspire to don the cloak of the holiest, most righteous, and deserving and believe that God is looking over us and our good fortune, others be damned. This idea that we’ve absolved ourselves of doing the work of God so we can relish in the glory of wealth is an evil contradiction of the tenets of religion that put the health and welfare of all people above the few.

The time is lost when people turned to their souls and, in community, found the essence of God. Love always rang through the congregation, even if it was only for an hour on Sunday. Today, self-love is found in financial transactions that beatify our existence and aloft us to nirvana. Today, Amazon offers us the kind of salvation that was once found in the church, with the media acting as the Pope, extolling what is cool.

The altar is archaic, appreciated by the atheist more than the devout, as the aesthetics are unique and fit the inquiring mind of the godless individual searching for the uncommon and unknown. What is offered to the senses in the church are not on-brand mass-produced goods that anoint the herd with salvation through consumption; this sanctuary of the holy is no longer a refuge for those trying to find their way or discover deeper truths in the unknown. It is painfully obvious that a church exercising its power to the point of being shoulder to shoulder with the most powerful is corrupt, but if God is supposed to be in the heart of all people, then why does the rage of intolerance and expression of greed infect such vast numbers of people? I am one of those who do not believe in a God, and yet my heart is overwhelmed with the need to know the extent of how far I can love and how loudly I can beg for the divine to be known. My voice, though, is not to be heard as I’m not on the “Viral Plan.” I’m not standing in the pulpit of TikTok or on a stage displaying the physical attributes everyone desires to worship. I’m just a nobody atheist, but I’m also profoundly in love.

Are You A Communist? For over 50 years, Sweden has had a communist party, which isn’t all that strange in Europe, though it would certainly seem quite wrong for Americans. Consider for a moment that they are not represented on the national level and only have a few seats in local municipalities, while the Pirate Party back in 2009 captured enough votes to gain a seat with the European Parliament. Don’t worry yet about the communists yet as over in Germany, AFD (Alternative For Deutschland – might as well call them Nazis) has a bit more than 10% of the seats in parliament. [The German Communist Party or DKP is absolute fringe in comparison and has no seats at all – Caroline] Such is the nature of politics not controlled by two monolithic parties where stalemates are the rule.

Flowers don’t give a damn about war, history, technology, or any of the other silly machinations of people bent on control, intimidation, and fear. Flowers have their own Freedom Party with a single platform that demands the right to sway in the wind.

We have returned once again to the Lund Cathedral because it’s not busy at this early hour, and we want to visit the crypt without others milling about. The cathedral is already open, while our next destination doesn’t unlock its doors until 10:00 a.m. We’ll have to return for a third visit to the cathedral since the astronomical clock will not play until noon and then again at 3:00, but we’ll be on our way north by that time.

A sense of palpable excitement grips me upon entering the crypt of a church. When descending into such places, there is a charge that does not originate in movies or books but is, in my opinion, inexplicable and mysterious. The solemnity is greater down here than on the floors above or in hospitals and libraries. Remember, I don’t or do not want to believe in spirits, ghosts, or souls of those who preceded my joining this space as a visitor, and as far as I know, my imagination doesn’t play to entertaining such mysteries as having weight or authenticity. Yet, there are times when the perplexing presence of historical gravity seems to be present in ways I cannot truly comprehend.

Legend has it that this is Finn the Giant, who made an agreement with a troll, but something went sideways, and now Finn stands here in petrified form, helping hold up the church.

This is Finn’s wife and child, holding fast to another pillar. What the truth of the matter is and who they represent is lost to time, and that’s perfectly okay as humanity is rarely interested in truths when a good story is at hand.

The oldest grave down here is of Hermann of Schleswig buried in the 12th century, but when the last burial was has proven impossible to determine.

There are two rows of medieval choir stalls that not only are some of the largest Gothic carved wooden sculptures anywhere but have been in place since the late 14th century, surviving for more than 600 years.

There are a total of 78 seats and not one of them has been sat in by me or Caroline. This concludes our second visit to the Lund Cathedral.

With time to spare before the astronomical clock sounds at noon, we walked over to Kulturen i Lund (Museum of Cultural History) to visit the outdoor living history museum.

Yesterday we saw our first runestone that was weathered, incomplete, and hidden in a dark space, but this one is magnificent and complex, at least in our eyes. This runestone dates to the year 1000, is carved in the Younger Futhark runic alphabet, and reads, “Káulf and Autir set this stone in memory of Tumi, their brother, who owned Gudis Snape” which is now the small village of Gussnava down near Ystad.

The first thing that comes to mind in this Museum is Colonial Williamsburg back in Virginia, except it’s Swedish, located in Europe, and older.

This is the world’s second-oldest open-air museum after Skansen in Stockholm.

As the museum was taking form back in 1882, there still existed many buildings from the Middle Ages up to their present that the museum could relocate from the surrounding areas, and that’s just what they did. According to the literature, everything is authentic, and we assume the wall paintings are, too; I wish this kind of stuff was on our walls.

With only a little more than 90 minutes at the museum, we are rushing through the grounds which is easy enough, seeing it’s a Thursday outside of the main tourism season. Due to the time of year that we are here, there are no demonstrations going on, which expedites things, too, although we are left to wonder how much excitement we are missing.

There is so much we could reach out and touch, there are no cameras, and no docents sitting by watching visitors. Most likely, in the United States, people would have carved their names into things, taken souvenirs, or posed with the displays in ways that would be disrespectful to the exhibits. Now, I’m sure that the figures hanging against the wall are not authentic historic pieces and that the stools are modern, but that a lot of this stuff can be unattended by security, unobserved by surveillance, or behind protective barriers should be noted.

If only eco-tourism were to turn to eco/history tourism, we could spend a week in an environment that eschewed particular conveniences, allowing visitors to experience life outside of time.

An old farmhouse with a spinning wheel, loom, and other fiber-related tools would keep Caroline busy, while a library and a writing desk could easily occupy my time, making for a world-class vacation.

I don’t typically have a good impression of open-air museums as my sense is that they are heavy-handed affairs with all of the authenticity of a Renaissance Festival in the Arizona desert, but the presentation here in Lund is excellent and nearly fully immersive. There are some worker vehicles nearby and a bit of scaffolding for a building that’s being preserved, but aside from that, it’s pretty easy to get lost in history. Most of the signage offering historical tidbits (down to the names of previous occupants and their stories) is bilingual.

I suppose in a litigious society with liability insurance and draconian rules regarding access and exposure to hazards like low doorways where someone could “crack their skull,” those things become the reasons why the edges are being removed from public spaces. And then, details such as this roof cannot exist because when you pay people minimum wage in the American economy, the skills to support such things don’t add up. There are moments that I feel nothing adds up in the United States when it comes to quality of life unless you are incredibly wealthy and can exist in a gated fortress.

The American aristocracy of 100 years ago was able to buy up untold numbers of art and treasures to decorate their mansions. While people like Industrialist Andrew Carnegie became philanthropists funding a myriad of libraries, the investment in the public space has really only benefited those of means. For example, sure, we have museums, but the best ones are in New York City, Chicago, Washington, D.C., Philadephia, San Francisco, and Los Angeles, while here in Europe, it’s not uncommon to find treasures in small out-of-the-way places such as Lund, Sweden; Stuttgart, Germany; or Ostend, Belgium. I suppose it’s simply one of the defining characteristics of a culture that invests in quality of life compared to one that invests to see how concentrated wealth can become.

Out of view on the right is a loom, while before us is a bundle of flax and the requisite tools to start turning it into linen fibers.

There was an exhibit going on during our visit dedicated to sharing cultural information about the Sámi people of northern Sweden, Norway, and Finland, but we needed to beat feet back over to the cathedral as our 1-minute concert would begin soon, and we couldn’t miss it.

The weather is turning ominous while the view appears medieval.

Life should be accompanied by on-demand guides knowledgeable about everything we could possibly want to know about, such as these crazy psychedelic sculptures at the closed side entrance of the cathedral.

For hundreds of years, these knights have raised their swords to do battle, never having resolved the conflict…

…while this procession rarely fails to emerge from the darkness to make an appearance charming those in attendance.

On the hunt for lunch, we passed what is obviously a popular place, it’s called Swedish Express and with a dozen people in line and very limited seating, we had to skip this opportunity for more Swedish meatballs as it was raining. Down a couple more doors, we entered the Grand Deli, snagged a couple of places to sit, and got ready to eat whatever they had. Great choice this was, even though they have a very limited lunch menu featuring two different daily offerings. Today was either a lentil-based vegetarian bowl or a pulled pork version that was nearly the same; I ordered one of each.

Our mid-day meal in this little gourmet joint that doubles as a small market was delightful. Bread and a bottle of chilled water were included. This was not our first encounter with the kind of utensils we were provided; they are biodegradable and compostable made from various natural materials such as rice husk, bamboo, and/or wheat straw. Mind you, this attention to detail we might expect from a hipster pricey spot in NYC, SF, or LA, but in the city of Lund, Sweden, with a population of just around 100,000, this feels extraordinary to me.

A couple more doors away is Broder Jakobs Cafe, where we picked up the fixings for a fika under the back patio awning in the rain. Armed with a cinnamon and cardamom roll and two coffees, we were punctuating our short visit to Lund with perfection.

We left Lund under a light rain for the 2.25-hour train ride to Gothenburg, where I was hoping there would be no rain. This was the first time on vacation that I found a large block of free time to sit and ponder things, but the hat of profundity was missing, and the hope of whipping out some writing I could be proud of felt far away. Even some bad writing to be properly embarrassed by if it’s stylistically poor enough is desired and preferred over more mediocre blatherings that typically represent the “Did this, went there, saw that” bit of crap that made up the majority of notes taken at this juncture of our trip.

I was busy trying to distract myself by looking out the window as we sped along at 200 km/h (125 mph) over the murky landscape beneath gray skies, passing plowed fields, occasional plots of corn, and even a windmill, but as I gazed into the world racing by, nothing in my mind said: “Get ready for inspiration.” On the contrary, the whispers of crickets and light flutter of cobwebs suggested that the cavernous space between my ears had been vacated.

I hoped I’d be saved by the first stop on the route as we pulled into Helsingborg, and my camera talked to me, telling me to make art or at least take a photo so that upon committing these handwritten notes to the computer upon returning to the U.S., you might have an image that could inspire something or other. But here I am so many weeks later and have nothing to add, so I transcribe my notes and move on.

Maybe part of the problem is that there has been no idle time to stop and reflect on the collection of impressions that are falling into our senses at a frenetic pace. With an empty head, I find myself focusing on distractions I can use to further distract myself by blaming others for what I’m missing. There’s a clone of a generic businessman to our left who is mad-typing with a serious urgency that is destroying my 1st class experience. Then there’s the Covid cougher a couple of rows over who is hacking incessantly. Sweet god, someone a few rows ahead is aggressively unwrapping another bonbon, possibly the sixth or seventh bonbon, with cellophane crinkles that are likely disturbing people in other cars. I’ll certainly become unhinged at this rate because how many damn bonbons does one need to unwrap in a place of relative silence?

Meanwhile, Caroline sits carelessly oblivious with headphones on, busy with yet another Swedish Duolingo lesson that has allowed her to master saying Tak for thanks and Hej (sounds like Hey) for hello. Hey, rope’s end; meet John’s inability to tolerate Mr. Bonbon and the guy whose phone is audibly alerting him for each and every text message. I think I’m reaching the edge of no return, and rage will make an appearance. Had I wanted a declasse trash concert of the etiquette deficient, I would have saved the money and joined the peasants of 2nd class. Paying for the privilege to sit with these snob assholes was for the pristine environment that was going to allow me to tap the creative flow instead of plumbing bitter lament.

Hmm, should I offer a weather report, talk about a train stop, or file a noise disturbance report with the conductor? Or how about sharing how annoying I am to Caroline with every kvetch I toss off as I over-dramatize how annoying everyone else is, thus becoming the most annoying person sitting right next to my wife? Come to think about it; maybe this can be considered a creative writing exercise where I flirt with madness, thus walking in the footsteps that took Strindberg into writing Inferno.

Forty-five more minutes pass while searching my head of emptiness, and now I’m even running out of kvetch though I’m still able to bring out the sense of annoyance to my seatmate. On the other hand, we’re going really fast through the rain, and the noisy fellow travelers have quieted down by now. As for Caroline, she sits mostly outside the turmoil afflicting me while she listens to her audiobook about George Washington and busies herself knitting my next pair of socks. I hate to admit it, but maybe I should take up knitting.

I’ve lost count of the number of crinkly cellophane wrappers this idiot has been able to unwrap in two hours. If it weren’t for the fact that we’d be deboarding in 20 minutes, I’d walk up to him and garrot him with Caroline’s headphone cable. I’m now seriously considering downgrading tomorrow’s trip to Stockholm, as it is painfully obvious that the Swedes do not respect proper train manners. Too bad, because otherwise, they too could be perfect like the Danes and Germans.

We’ve arrived in Gothenburg (pronounced Yotta-bourry in Swedish), and I need to find a church to beg forgiveness for my transgressions of entertaining murderous aspirations, but it better be Catholic as a Protestant church will do nothing for my soul.

A not-so-funny thing happened on the way to check into our hotel: a wheel on our suitcase crumbled into half a dozen pieces, and now we are pulling the loudest-ever clickety-clackety suitcase over cobblestones. This would be okay if we were willing to go buy another bag, but we’d rather suffer the indignity of disturbing the peace of anyone within a block distance than give up 30 minutes of vacation trying to find a replacement that can wait until we return to Arizona, we hope.

Outside the Gothenburg Cathedral sits this statue; she’s known as the Oraklet (The Oracle). This was an early rendition of The Little Mermaid back when Hans Christian Andersen was still floating the idea of writing something along the lines of Mary Shelley’s The Modern Prometheus but was angling for a seafood connection.

Starting in 1621, a stave church stood here, followed by a cathedral, then another cathedral, and then finally this one. Over the course of less than 100 years, two cathedrals burned down, along with a high school and 290 houses in total, until this rather uninspired building became the third cathedral.

Not feeling the inspiration – from my view, this is the European version of the strip mall church.

On Västra Hamngatan stands a building with this statue of SVEA, who is the personification of mother Sweden.

One of approximately 30 public drinking fountains found across the city.

These small shacks scattered across Europe serve standard fast-food fare, but they are independently owned mom-and-pop operations that offer variety when everything else is a franchise. Maybe I have some kind of nostalgic feeling for them as they trigger old memories of diners and something from my own past that doesn’t seem to exist on the shores over the Atlantic anymore.

I could be mistaken, but I’d swear this is Swedish Wiesbaden. Of course, you’d have to know something or other about that German city.

Walking through the shopping area, most everything is closed, but window shopping might be more satisfying as it means we don’t have to waste time stopping in every other one.

The girl at the front desk of our hotel told us about a no-frills restaurant called KöttbulleKällaren, which serves, you guessed it, Köttbullar (Swedish meatballs). They were definitely on the large side, covered in something that could be called brown gravy, a weak concoction of lingonberry, and some rather chunky mashed potatoes, but it was cheap, and we were fed.

This is the window display of the oldest tea and coffee shop in Gothenburg called Indiska Thé & Kaffe Magasinet; the place is an artwork in its own right.

We’re back at the Gothenburg Central Station because our hotel is nearby and the day for us is over.

The view from our hotel room is of the railyard. Can you guess that we’re here because it was one of the cheapest in town? Let’s hope for better weather tomorrow so we can see this Swedish city in a better light. But don’t construe that the day could have been any better; we are thrilled about the breadth of our experiences in Sweden on our third day here.