On second thought, I'm going to leave the last post as-is. I think it captures the spirit of my visit to germany. Though the post is rough and makes little sense, it matches up well with my sketchy and confused memories of germany, in which nothing is constant or sure except for the fact that I always had a beer in my hand. Some of my best moments in Europe were spent there, and I will go back; I have several standing invitations for places to stay, including a place in (Former) Eastern Germany, a place which piques my curiosity. Now I got to know some germans who managed to find me a place to stay, or at least a yard to pitch my tent in, at the local jugendzentrum (youth centre). And it just so happened that one of the employees there had a friend who would be driving up to sweden in a few days. So I sold my bike and signed up for the ride. And so, I left northern germany, with a tear in my eye ;)
My ride took me all the way up to Göteborg (Second biggest city in Sweden, after Stockholm), and I spent an entertaining night there with a couple of irishmen in the local irish pub (yes, every city has a local irish pub) before beginning to to hitch my way north. Along the way I met some interesting characters, attended a couple of swedish parties, stayed at a house where I was subjected to traditional swedish accordean music, joined a group of jugglers and fire-spinners, and found my way eventually up to Östersund, where I have some friends that I met in France. Now it should be noted that hitching Sweden was not easy. In fact, it is probably the hardest place I've had to hitchhike. You see, Swedish people are shy to the point of awkwardness. I suspect I wasn't picked up because people were afraid - not of being murdered or attacked, but rather of having to make conversation. But with a little effort you can usually get them talking, and when you do, they're usually pretty friendly.
Now, with my friends here, we went up to the country and went to - wait for it - a GOAT CAROUSEL INAUGURATION PARTY! Yes, it was farm life for me for a few days, and I got to go to the inauguration party of the first goat carousel, an ingenious system by which goats are milked and fed on a rotating platform, in Scandinavia. We also were also witness to many other farming demonstrations and the comic stylings of a local Swedish farmer. Unfortunately it was all in Swedish, except for the master cheesemaker's demonstration. The master cheesemaker had been imported from france, and it was very good to get a chance to speak french with someone! Let me tell you, I tasted some of the cheese that he made, and he definitely earned the title of cheesemaster in my opinion (I can't express how well I ate up there; vegetables fresh out of the ground, fruits off the bushes, fresh baked bread made in a stone oven, fresh cheese of the highest quality). Now one thing that I found odd: after the farming demonstrations, a band set up to play in a makeshift tent. Now what sort of music do you think these cowboys and farmers gathered around to listen to? Wrong! Jazz! I couldn't believe it! Talk about a strange scene! I mean cowboys and jazz; they go together about as well as... well as cowboys and jazz!
All right I'm running out of time so...
More later from northern Sweden.
Bye!
My ride took me all the way up to Göteborg (Second biggest city in Sweden, after Stockholm), and I spent an entertaining night there with a couple of irishmen in the local irish pub (yes, every city has a local irish pub) before beginning to to hitch my way north. Along the way I met some interesting characters, attended a couple of swedish parties, stayed at a house where I was subjected to traditional swedish accordean music, joined a group of jugglers and fire-spinners, and found my way eventually up to Östersund, where I have some friends that I met in France. Now it should be noted that hitching Sweden was not easy. In fact, it is probably the hardest place I've had to hitchhike. You see, Swedish people are shy to the point of awkwardness. I suspect I wasn't picked up because people were afraid - not of being murdered or attacked, but rather of having to make conversation. But with a little effort you can usually get them talking, and when you do, they're usually pretty friendly.
Now, with my friends here, we went up to the country and went to - wait for it - a GOAT CAROUSEL INAUGURATION PARTY! Yes, it was farm life for me for a few days, and I got to go to the inauguration party of the first goat carousel, an ingenious system by which goats are milked and fed on a rotating platform, in Scandinavia. We also were also witness to many other farming demonstrations and the comic stylings of a local Swedish farmer. Unfortunately it was all in Swedish, except for the master cheesemaker's demonstration. The master cheesemaker had been imported from france, and it was very good to get a chance to speak french with someone! Let me tell you, I tasted some of the cheese that he made, and he definitely earned the title of cheesemaster in my opinion (I can't express how well I ate up there; vegetables fresh out of the ground, fruits off the bushes, fresh baked bread made in a stone oven, fresh cheese of the highest quality). Now one thing that I found odd: after the farming demonstrations, a band set up to play in a makeshift tent. Now what sort of music do you think these cowboys and farmers gathered around to listen to? Wrong! Jazz! I couldn't believe it! Talk about a strange scene! I mean cowboys and jazz; they go together about as well as... well as cowboys and jazz!
All right I'm running out of time so...
More later from northern Sweden.
Bye!
