Predictions

I updated more regularly than I thought I would. It's not much, as excuses go, but it's all I've got.

Last time I mentioned anything, I was exploring Berlin--more specifically, the Pergamon Museum and its incredible archeological exhibits. I left with a promise to talk about the rest of that trip (which was 5 more days. I think. It's been a while.), so here's what I remember:

I started the trip by almost missing it. Reading the 24:00 time system still throws me off, particularly in the afternoon. 14:00 becomes 4:00 in my head, 16:00 is 6:00, etc. I thought I had a handle on it when I noted our bus's departure time--16:50. Then, a strange thing happened. I read "16:50", thought "6:50", and then remembered "18:50".

Anyway, the result was packing for my entire trip in 20 minutes flat. I made the bus, and (spoiler alert!) I didn't even forget anything important on the way out.

Our itinerary went something like this (in continental, or railway time):

16:50 - Ride several different buses to Nykoping. Find the only open seats are by the toilet, which has the sickly scent of diapers.

20:00 (ish) - Arrive at Stockholm Skavsta airport (a misleading name, as it's an hour away from Stockholm, and not connected to the true Stockholm airport, Arlanda.).

20:00 - Doze fitfully on the cold airport floor.

02:30 - Give up dozing, watch Lord of the Rings instead (extended edition, no less).

05:30 - Board Ryanair flight to Berlin and tsk scornfully at its distastefully bright yellow seats.

06:00 - Sleep like the dead for the entirety of the flight, including the landing.

07:00 - Stumble onto the train into the city.

10:00 - Arrive at hostel, learn the computer system is down. Decide that a 4 hour walking tour was the ideal next step.

11:00 - Begin walking tour.

03:00 - Finish walking tour, check in at hostel, promptly pass out on bed.

And thus our first day in Berlin passed in a hazy cloud of sleep-deprived insanity. That night we awoke, more rested and infinitely more hungry, and found a hearty German restaurant/pub called Marcus Brau, where I had a huge bratwurst and the superb sauerkraut.

As a side note, I begin each new trip with a superior and frightfully unfounded sense of optimism about how easy it is to travel. To Berlin's credit, navigating their metro system is a relatively simple task, though unfortunately this only served to cement my wrongful notion of possessing excellent public transportation skills.. Having been to Rome, London, and Barcelona in the months between now and then, I can confidently compliment Berlin's efficiency and its somewhat stunningly uncrowded trains.

Berlin provided a foil to Athens. No disrespect towards Greece and its people, but Athens felt like a city that had already reached its peak--it has a deep and complex past, but it all happened such a long time ago. Berlin, on the other hand, was at the heart of the most dramatic history of the 20th century--both World Wars and the Cold War. Hitler fought and died in Berlin, and the Iron Curtain clove it in two (Was that too pretentious? Too pretentious. Sorry).

Regardless, twenty years is not very many years at all--particularly to historians--and it was fascinating to explore a city still feeling the effects of its deeply resonant past (That was also pretty pretentious--I can't help it, I'm in one of those moods). It's easy to see divergent views on how Berlin should handle its heritage. The Berlin Wall is almost completely demolished, but everyone knows where it once ran. The old Luftwaffe headquarters looks as I imagine it would have in the 1940's, a malignant grey presence that towers over its surroundings (though I suppose by the 40's much of the immediate area would have been nothing but rubble). A street away from the traditional city center, the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe claims an entire city block. Less than half a mile to the South, Hitler's bunker (and the site of his suicide) is now an apartment complex; an informative sign only appeared in the last decade or so as its residents grew tired of answering tourists' questions.

We spent a day at Sachsenhausen, which served as the administrative center of the Naxi concentration camps and a fairly horrific camp in its own right. Today, it's a desolate and forbidding triangle; the museum is spread across the few original buildings that have survived the intervening decades. The Soviets installed a triumphant monument to socialism after they assumed control of the camp in 1945--it's a subtly dissonant presence on the already unsettling grounds.

I stood in this camp, at the edge of a gravel pit where 10,000 people died in just weeks, and I cried.

Estimates place the total number of deaths at Sachsenhausen between 30,000 and 40,000. Murder on such a scale is simply staggering to contemplate. In fact, these experiences defined the trip: filled with fascinating but frequently horrifying history. The heady mixture of vitality and tragedy is what, in my mind, sets Berlin apart from my other travels.

Of course, I have managed to completely gloss over a great deal of Berlin's other charms. It's a city for artsy-fartsy teenagers who are too cynical to admit they love being part of the counterculture, hipsters-in-denial. (Hint: I'm talking about myself, here.) Not to slip into cliche, but the experience is largely a product of what you, the prospective traveler, desires to make it. If I had wanted, I could have done nothing but get lost in alternative art galleries, or spent the entire week absorbing the weight of past atrocities. 

Point being: Berlin was awesome.

Cheers,

Daniel

The Wonders of Berlin (pt. I)

It's my fifth day in Berlin. It's amazing how my traveling experience changed once I was alone. Everything requires more courage to initiate. There's no one to turn to when I feel confused, and no one to laugh at my foreign blunders as I stumble clumsily around the city. I feel conspicuous with a backpack and camera, acutely aware of potential faux pas (faux passé?) and preemptively embarrassed of the ones I know I've already committed unknowingly.

However, the values of moving at my own pace make it worthwhile. There is time for introspection, opportunities to stop and gape with vacant abandon, slack-jawed with no nagging thoughts of group cohesion to interrupt my stupor. (This is not meant to cast a poor light on my travelling companions, who are a marvelous group.)

Today, on a whim, I decided to shell out 6 euros for a trip to one of Berlin's museums, the Pergamon. (I am aware that this sounds like a Pokemon.) After bumbling about the city's (excellent and timely) subway system, turning up at the entrance was a relief. I was surprised by its size--German architecture frequently opts for overbearing intimidation, and Pergamon was no exception.

I had reflected, as I was departing my domicile, that lunchtime would be an ideal time to arrive. Tourists and the culturally minded would be otherwise occupied by Berlin's excellent culinary attractions, leaving the museum relatively uncrowded. Sadly, I was mistaken: The entrance line stretched across half of the plaza, and the half hour that followed was spent jealously watching various school groups enter the museum uninhibited, often composed of teenaged students already looking bored.

I've been to a fair few museums, including Berlin's own museum of natural history the day before, and often find the content to be underwhelming, or something I had already known. The Pergamon was different.

After a surprise 50% student discount and a free audio tour (I was already thrilled with these developments), I entered the entrance hall (hurrhurr). I don't generally consider myself the sort of person who gasps, yet there I was, staring at the Pergamon acropolis temple with my jaw on the floor--the the first gasp of many.

Germany has had a highly active archeological scene, particularly considering its roles in both World Wars and the Cold one. Its archeologists have painstakingly recreated much of the Greek frieze from the Pergamon's previously shattered remains to a stunning extent. This recreation in Berlin was just as impressive as the acropolis in Athens.

In just the next room was the Market Gate of Miletus. Cue another gasp. Despite having been heavily damaged in WWII, plaster casts and patient work restored the facade to its prior 17m tall glory.

When first perusing the tourist pamphlet I had received from Wombat's (the hostel I've been staying at), the summary of the Pergamon claimed the entire Ishtar Gate was on display--all 120m of it. While this is incorrect, I still (surprise!) gasped when, in the next room, a healthy percentage of it had been reconstructed. Don't get me wrong, I love the austere (and historically false) white marble of Greek architecture. However, the brilliant cobalt of the Ishtar gate is simply stunning on another level entirely.

Fair warning: I intend to spend the rest of this post extolling the museum's many virtues. If you don't want to hear about it, skip to the bottom now.

I foolishly neglected to take a picture of the model. Here's
a neat illustration instead.

You are, astoundingly, still reading. In that case, we'll go to the next room, which had many more millennia old artifacts from Babylon. The exhibit included a model of the Tower of Babel, which looks like something Sauron would be proud to live in. I was under the impression scholars had no idea what it actually looked like, but the audio tour corrected me: they're simply not solid on the details. Ancient Mesopotamian architecture looks like it was lifted directly out of the shadow of Mount Doom. (can you tell I've been into Lord of the Rings lately?)

Babylonian relics sufficiently examined and goggled at, I moved on to the display of Islamic art. Despite the sheer majestic weight of the gates, it was this section of the museum that impressed me the most.

I am now obsessed with Islamic textiles. In climate-controlled glass cases, within stiflingly dry rooms, lay centuries-old pages of the Koran. Exquisite illustrations and incredible calligraphy. Intricately detailed leather and gold that was literally woven into the pages. Until now, and despite my intellectual acknowledgement of the contrary, I've had a habit of viewing history in black and white. In my mind, this mental image paired well with my perception of the past's simplicity. The riot of colors in Islamic art have finally succeeded in changing my perceptions. The complexity and vibrancy of the artwork are striking. 

One of the most truly astonishing displays was the improbably well-preserved interior of an Assyrian house, called the Aleppo room. My pictures are laughably inadequate; here's one from Google instead. Just imagine standing in it.

Predicting my dumbstruck immobility, the audio tour--
after detailing the room's fascinating history--
told me to "leave the Aleppo room so others may view it."

And there's more. Oh, so much more. Weapons. Carved crystal. Astounding woodwork and exceptional masonry. Yet, despite my attempts at finding the right words, the only way to appreciate it is to go yourself. It seems a light and inconsequential recommendation, but if you enjoy really old and really pretty craftsmanship, you owe it to yourself to visit the Pergamon

If you skipped the last couple of paragraphs (and I don't blame you; I get irritatingly verbose), now's probably a good time to resume reading. I'm currently in a Korean restaurant a few blocks from the heart of Berlin (yes, you read that correctly--Korean), and my flight leaves tomorrow morning at 8:00. I'm in the midst of writing a post that covers the entire trip, and includes my (admittedly poor) excuses for the lack of updates. Barring unforeseen complications, it should be up in the next few days. I'll see you then.

Cheers,

Daniel

Temporarily Greek

I've spent the last week in Athens, Greece, and it's been wonderful.

First of all, my class schedule is erratic and irregular. It's bizarre. It turned out that I had a full week available for travel if I ditched one class--and seeing as the one class was a Corporate Finance lecture, I had no reservations booking my flight to Athens.

One of my closest friends is studying with College Year in Athens, an American study abroad program in, uh, Athens, so lodging was never an issue. In theory, he's not allowed to host overnight guests; I've actually been staying at the Student and Traveller's Inn in (haha) the Plaka if anyone's curious. It's a great place, though it's remarkably similar to my friend's apartment.

My flight was at 9:45 out of Stockholm, so naturally I left my apartment shortly after midnight in order to catch the right buses to make it on time. The longest leg of the trip turned out to be from Jonkoping to Stockholm--from 1:45 to 7:30--and that's all AM times. But yeah, it was three hours to Zurich, Germany, and after an astonishingly short 20 minute layover, two more hours into ATH. From there I grabbed a taxi into town.

I must have lucked into one of Athens' nicest cab drivers--my friend had warned me repeatedly of the local drivers' penchant for ripping off tourists. Mine, however, quoted a (quite reasonable) flat fee, then offered to take me into town via the scenic coastal route. Along the way, he offered the kind of advice only a longtime resident could give, including gems such as, "Oh, I'd say definitely 80% of the street food is safe to eat. The other 20% is, yeah, don't eat that," and "I wouldn't go into the strip clubs if I were you, you'll pay the girls and nothing will happen."

Upon my arrival, I found my Swedish phone only worked sporadically, apparently deciding to connect calls and send texts on a whim. However, the resultant communication mishaps let me explore the surrounding area in great detail during my quest to locate the CYA student center. Tl;dr: I got a little lost.

The Temple of Poseidon at sunset. Yeah.

The next day was devoted to exploring Athens on foot during the daylight hours. My friend's apartment is located approximately 20 meters from the gigantic Panathinaiko Stadium, which is built entirely out of white marble and seats about 45,000 people. Oh, and it hosted the first modern Olympic games in 1896. It's what we walked past to get to anywhere.

Over the past week, I've walked the ruins of the Parthenon, the Temple of Zeus, the Temple of Poseidon. Wandering around the Plaka and Monastiraki, I'd be strolling down the street and catch a glimpse of the Acropolis out of the corner of my eye.

Athens is a strange city. There are incredible ruins scattered everywhere--it's hard not to run across one even when walking to a grocery store. Yet the city as a whole is filled with pedestrian apartment blocks in tan, the ground floors covered in graffiti, the streets potholed and uneven. It's difficult to appreciate that the Athens area has been continuously settled for seven millenia.

To wit: A great trip. I could talk about the weather (20 C warmer than Jonkoping), or the food (Two delicious gyros for 3.80E! Three pizzas for 16E!) or a whole host of other things, but it's largely unnecessary. I am, however, grateful I had the whole week--it was infinitely less stressful when I knew I could come back the next day.

I highly recommend a visit.

Cheers,
Daniel

Copenhagen!

Haha, so much for that update schedule, hey?

Anyway: I spent the weekend in Copenhagen, and it was great.

We left Friday morning around 10:00 after picking up our rental cars, ready for the 330km trip south. Sadly, the cars didn't have a place to plug in an iPod, so we resigned ourselves to 3 hours of nonstop Swedish radio. There was far more Pink and far less ABBA than I had anticipated.

1:00 saw us arriving in Helsingborg, which is a nice little coastal Swedish town. We drove onto a ferry (I'd never done that before. We just drove on! Crazy!), and twenty minutes later we were in the remarkably different Danish town of Helsingor. I'd hazard the two towns have far more in common than not--starting with the first seven letters of their names.

Anyway. Copenhagen (or Kobenhavn, in Danish) was another ~50km south, so after a little panicked gesturing we continued on our way. Danish radio is crap. Utter crap. At one point, we heard the words "Nonstop music" through the stream of Danish babble. This bold statement was immediately followed by several commercials and what seemed to be the DJ's life story. Incidentally, hearing English surface in a flow of Danish is both amusing and strangely heartening.

Our first glimpse of Copenhagen!

The idea was to head to our hostel and check in, then get food. However, we were amusingly (and retrospectively, idiotically) mapless, deciding instead to count on one friend's repeated assurances of "It's a big, white building!" and "I know what it looks like in my head." I'm honestly stunned we got there: we made two random turns, and then someone said, "Isn't that it?" To which the reply was, surprisingly, "Yeah! Now turn around!"

Sorry about the dialog. It was necessary to truly immerse you in the scene, though.

Anyway. One check in process later, and the 10 of us are on the main streets of Copenhagen, excited, talkative, but mostly starving. The tourist office referred us to a buffet, and so--30 minutes after arriving in the 3rd country I'd ever visited--I found myself walking into a Turkish buffet. It was delicious.

Corporate-free Stroget.

After our 4:00 lunch, we wandered down Stroget, the world's longest pedestrian mall. If you can see, that's a Burger King on the right. A little farther down is a McDonalds. The pristine, capitalist-free environment was novel, as were the cobblestones and hanging street lights (one of those things was not novel, or true.). 

Over the next two days, we spent a great deal of time traipsing up and down this street, past shawarma shops and crepe stalls, by fashion stores and LEGO outlets, and, for some strange reason, two Irish pubs. 

Friday night, we went wandering about in search of somewhere to sit and have a quiet, subdued discussion. We found a nightclub called Kant that seemed to suit our purposes--though that was after a trip to The Moose, which was definitely a local bar, and The Francis Pony. Now, I'm not a big party person, and I'm definitely not a barhopper (seeing as it's still illegal for me in the States...). Maybe that'd explain why I felt like walking into The Francis Pony was like entering Copenhagen's seedy underbelly. We nodded to the bouncer, took a few steps down into a dark, smoky room with lots of lasers. The first person I saw was a very angry girl in studded black pants. 

Luckily we escaped the Pony alive, and danced the night away in Kant instead. Incidentally, it's pronounced with a short 'a', so it rhymes with 'haunt.' Several people were more than slightly bewildered when they thought I said we were headed to dance in Copenhagen's vagina. 

That was tasteless. I'm sorry. 

Uh, yeah. The next day was devoted to exploring the city. I spent the morning with monstrously tall Australian, then met up with most of the group for lunch at an awesome Danish chain called Chili-Mili's, which makes massive and delicious sandwiches. After lunch, I headed out by myself to explore--but that's a story for another post. 

There wasn't a whole lot more. More partying on Saturday night. A late night shawarma, lots of inebriated friends, and not enough sleep later, we were checking out of our hostel. We took a leisurely brunch at a great French cafe called Croissant 'En, where I had a great quiche and even better orange juice. As a side note, I had no idea orange juice had discernible levels of quality--but after watching the girl squeeze the oranges directly into a glass, I'm a convert. 

We left the city at around 2:00, and were back in Jonkoping by 6:00. And now I'm packing for Greece. I'll be there for a week starting Tuesday. :)

Cheers!

Daniel

Not Dead

Promise.

Sorry about the lack of updates. Things have been simultaneously hectic and stagnant here--when stuff is happening, then everything is happening. Otherwise, I'm basically sitting in my room, using Rosetta Stone or procrastinating on a blog update.

Corporate Finance turns out to be an introductory level repeat of Financial Accounting, which I took quite a while ago. It's certainly a different environment though--where I took Financial Accounting with 17 other students in a small classroom, Corporate Finance is taught in a huge lecture hall, and I have over 250 classmates. It's nice to experience something different than CC; there aren't any consequences if I don't complete assignments for the next class period.

All told, I have class three days a week, for perhaps 8 hours in total. Unfortunately it doesn't look like I'll be making it into Swedish 1--I'd been waitlisted when I asked to join two weeks ago, and I think I'm too far behind now. Regardless, I've been following along with some friends, studying the same things they study. I'd forgotten how much I enjoy learning a language.

Mind you, Swedish is fiendishly difficult to speak. Reading and writing are perfectly manageable, but all consonants disappear as soon as someone opens their mouth. It's just an incomprehensible stream of the nine different Swedish vowels. Yeah, nine. I suppose that's a nice 80% improvement on English.

Tragically, I've yet to eat real Swedish food. Raslatt has a natural deficit of enthusiastic cooks, and despite much searching, I am unable to find a Swedish restaurant. I've been relying heavily on bread and cream cheese, with frozen pizzas and Swedish meatballs (also frozen) making frequent appearances. On the bright side, I've become good friends with a (monstrously tall) Australian who's an absurdly good chef (an evolved cook. Obviously). I'm slowly adopting his more discerning tastes, but it's a gradual process--that's why tonight's dinner is a frozen pizza, bread with cream cheese and lox, and grapes. I'm hoping life will be more baked salmon with avocado and less ramen noodles with crackers.

The Raslatt student association just opened a new restaurant (okay, that's a generous description. Eatery?) in Sockertoppen. While the food isn't quite gourmet, it's significantly cheaper than most places in Jonkoping--did I mention that a Big Mac is almost $10.00? Groceries aren't expensive, but food prices are mindblowing.

Anyway, life is good. Last night, I entered a riddle/logic question/general knowledge tournament style thing with two friends, and we walked away with 300Kr, or about $50.00 to split between the three of us. It was a good start to the week.

Cheers,
Daniel

P.S. I'll try to update more regularly. Once or twice a week? Yeah? We'll see.

Starting School

I'm enrolled in Corporate Finance and Project Management (woohoo). My opinions are divided: on one hand, I'm not exactly thrilled that I'll be back in class; on the other, the last week of nonstop social activities have taken their toll, and I'm looking forward to feeling productive again.

Unfortunately, my wallet disappeared over the weekend. I lost my driver's license, debit card, bus card, student ID, and some number of Krona (about $50.00, I think). I'm feeling the missing bus card the most, though--bus fare is about $4.00 each way, and I generally dislike paying $8.00 just to get to school every day.

I called Wells Fargo to replace my debit card, and had an amusing exchange about how to spell the name of the building I live in--Karrhoksgatan, approximately pronounced "Kerr-hokes-gott-an." The replacement process was easy, though, and they didn't make a fuss about shipping my new card across the Atlantic.

On a happier note, my apartment is quite spacious. As I mentioned before, the same flat would probably fit twice as many Colorado College students. I'm sharing an apartment with three roommates, two of whom attend engineering school (I'm not sure about the third, as he doesn't leave his room). Altogether, the apartment is 25% American, 25% Polish,  18.75% Swedish, and 6.25% Bolivian. I'm happy to report no troubles so far.

The student apartments are just a small part of the whole Raslatt complex: there are about 30 large apartment buildings, only 3 of which are for students. Fortunately, the real estate company--Vatterhem--has constructed a common room, which is in the middle of the three student buildings. Called Sockertoppen, which is Swedish for sugar top, it's got foosball, a TV, and--you guessed it--the sauna. I'll take this small opportunity to brag about how nice it is to wake up in the cold Swedish winter and hop in the sauna before breakfast.

Pictured: The building that has the sauna in it. Ahhh.

This is the first week I have consistent internet access--activation required the apartment rental agreement plus a passport, and for three straight days I managed to neglect one, the other, or both. $15.00 for the whole semester was a palatable price, though, despite the lack of Wi-Fi. Sadly, my ethernet cable is a mere meter in length (that's right, look at this American use the metric system!) so I'm bound to the foot of my bed. On the flip side, my roommate (the Swedish/Bolivian one) said he was getting a wireless router, and I remain optimistic.

A couple of days ago, the university sent us on a short bus tour around Jonkoping (which is pronounced Yon-schir-ping, by the way), which really helped me get a feel for the city. Population-wise, it's hovering around 120,000, although sometimes it feels substantially larger or smaller. Over the past 30 years, urban sprawl has linked it with the neighboring Huskvarna, and the tour took us by the chainsaw factory (they're still churning out 1,150 chainsaws per day!).

Jonkoping University. Picture unrelated.

The best part of the tour, though, was at the peak of a nearby hill, with the city lights reaching around the lake as the sun set. I wish I had a picture to share, but by then it was too dark for the limited capabilities of my point-and-shoot. Here's an unrelated picture of the university instead.

I took today to run around the city by myself and explore a bit. There's an incredible cathedral in the center of town called Sofiakyrken, or the Sofia Church. It's been around since the late 1800's, and it's absolutely incredible.

The rest of the afternoon was spent finding the highest point I could reach on foot--an adventure that took me through a 300 year old graveyard overlooking Lake Visingo and to the foot of an awesome clock tower. Next time I go explore, I'll remember to put my SD card back in my camera so I can take pictures. Yeah.


A couple of new friends came over last night and we prepared our own Swedish meatballs and pasta. It was, needless to say, a delicious meal.

Cheers,
Daniel

Guess what?

I have a sauna.

There isn't really a way to encapsulate the events of last week, since I left the States. I traveled for 30 hours, on three planes and two trains. I met an architecture student from Denmark on my flight over the Atlantic, a satellite technician working for NATO in Naples on the plane to Washington, a German anesthetist on the train to Nassjo, and students from Australia, Kazakhstan, France and a dozen other countries.

I've started the painfully slow process of learning a new language, gone on a pub crawl, eaten Swedish meatballs in an Ikea, and taken the bus approximately five million times (with a projected 25 million to go).

I'm living in the Raslatt apartment buildings in a suburb of Jonkoping. The buildings are painted in shockingly horrible pastel patterns, but my flat is relatively nice. The same space would house twice as many students at CC.

And yeah, the student common room has a sauna.

Cheers,
Daniel

Now Boarding

I'm staring at the McDonald's sandwich I just bought with more than a little trepidation as I start this post. My flight takes off in about an hour and a half, and there's nothing to do except put off eating my Sausage Biscuit with Egg for a few more minutes. The guy across the aisle from me is struggling mightily to sleep in these deceivingly awful waiting chairs. He's managed some impressive contortions so far, including several I didn't think were possible unless one had several decades of yoga experience.

Here's an idea: rent out one of those airport shops, and start a nap clinic! It would need soundproofed sleeping areas, because airports are loud, and some method of waking clients up peacefully. Also, the employees would have to be screened for massive amounts of patience, because the only thing worse than airport travelers are ones who have just woken up.

But seriously--I'd design a sort of sci-fi sleeping cot, with a transparent, sound-proof...lid, I guess you'd call it. It'd have that awesome foam sleeping stuff, and a nice pillow, and the lid would gradually light up when people wanted to wake up. They could also have an employee wake them up, too. I'd charge people by the hour, and sell sleep paraphernalia in the lobby. You saw it here first, ladies and gentlemen. No stealing.

Moving on from silly ideas, I'm finally starting to get truly, viscerally excited. In some ways I'm dreading the next 30 odd hours of travel, but I think it'll be really, really cool.

Now it's only half an hour 'till boarding, but my sandwich isn't looking any more appetizing. I'm thinking it's a lost cause. That 30 wasn't a typo, by the way. I won't get to Jonkoping until 6:00 tomorrow night (CET, or the Swedish time zone). I'm flying to Washington right now, and I'll land in Dulles close to 4:00. Then, my flight to Copenhagen takes off at 5:15, and I'll get there (plus the time change) at 7:00 in the morning. It's a short hop to Stockholm at 8:00, and then I'll wander through customs, and grab a train to Jonkoping at around noon. Finally, after a stopover in Nassjo, I'll stumble into Jonkoping. I anticipate a good night's sleep.

On a side note, some lady sat down right in my line of sight out the window, preventing me from watching the planes take off and land for fear of appearing like I'm staring at her. Drat.

Oh, and I threw the sandwich away.

Cheers,
Daniel

Just Sleep Left

I wrote a bunch of stuff about how messy my room was, and the packing process, and even mentioned I only had just over 36 hours before my flight left. Then, as I was about to publish it today, I realized none of it still applied. My room is (mostly) clean, I'm (almost) completely packed, and I've got 12 hours to go before I fly to Washington. It's 17 hours until I leave the country, but that's just nit picking.

Here's the picture I was going to include in the section about how much of a mess my room was. This is, mind you, after about three days of cleaning.

Missing from this picture: About 40 books, a couch, and two loads of laundry.

I'm not particularly emotional at this point. A little excited, sure, and maybe even a little scared. Mostly, however, I just don't know what to expect, and I'm really interested in how this'll go.

I managed to do everything on the checklist from the other day except see friends. I may have mentioned it before, but I'll repeat: I've been feeling rather antisocial this past month or so. It's not a conscious choice, but I guess I've checked out a bit in anticipation of not being here. It's an illogical decision, as a lot of the friends I was trying to see are ones I don't see for longer than six months at a time. There seems to be something very final about this trip, though. The more I contemplate the days ahead, the slower they take to arrive.

To do:
1. Leave

Cheers,
Daniel