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Sweden Sailing - Day 8

9/24/2021

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​Where is Royce? Click to Sail Along ⛵
“Ease the sheet!” Andy yelled from the helm, with more urgency than panic.  “Easing” I hollered in reply.  The 35 knot gusts of wind (40+MPH) whistling through the rigging, complimented by the crashing waves against the hull created a symphony of noise and chaos that drowned out any communication.  It was 23:00, Thursday, and save for the faint red glow from a few instruments on deck, the only source of light was the eerily peaceful spotlight of a 3/4 moon.   What returned the moon’s gaze was the dark boiling cauldron of the Baltic Sea.  I was getting everything I asked for a few days earlier.  At the captain’s inquiry, I requested tumultuous seas, heavy winds, and a dose of fear in an overtly confident tone.  Check, check and check.  Idiot. 

Andy took over the helm a few minutes before shouting his instructions, so he could orchestrate the “depowering” of Ice Bear.  Alejandro and I had been on shift since 8PM, and after three hours of beating into the waves against 30 knots of wind under a main sail that was already lowered to it’s 2nd reef point, the boat was heeling too much and struggling to keep course so the captain decided we should reduce sail further.  I sprung to action by helping Andy furl (roll) in some of the jib sail (sail at the front of the boat) by easing the line controlling the sail while he rolled up several feet via a button in the cockpit.  I was beginning to feel nauseous again, which had been an unwelcome visit earlier in the day, due to the washing machine ride we were experiencing.

Now was the tougher job.  Three of us would have leave the relative safety of the cockpit to go forward a bucking ship in rough seas to lower the halyard holding up the main sail and bring her down to a third reef (reduction point).  I would go on the low side of the boat - the closest to the water if you can picture a boat severely heeled over to one side.  My job would be to tighten the sail via a winch once the main had been lowered.  Two other crew took the high side and worked on lowering the halyard.  We worked as a team, which made my trip out into the elements more acceptable - I couldn’t be the one to backdown. 




​All of us wear PFDs (Personal Flotation Devices) that inflate upon contact with water, and are tethered to the boat via two 3-5 foot elastic lines.  Carabiners are attached at the end of these two lines so we can unclip from one anchor point on the boat and clip into another, without ever losing a connection to our vessel.  I pictured slipping off the deck and being dragged through the black water by my elastic tether.  “Ready to go?” Andy shouted?  ’Do we have to,' I thought.  “Ready!” I answered, uncertainly. 

That was last night.  It’s now 13:05, the following day (Friday).  I’m snuggled up in my down sleeping bag, attempting to gain body heat from my last watch that began at 8am and was over at noon.  As you might imagine, attempting sleep on a 60-foot boat enduring the conditions mentioned is aspirational at best.  Despite having the best birth on the boat, the lee (down) side of the couch where the heel of the boat suctions me into the back cushion, I couldn’t fall asleep.  Gregory Allen Isokov, delivered through noise cancelling headphones helped block out the shouting, banging and whistling rigging above, but could do nothing to slow the pitching and yawing of the boat.  So, I didn’t get much sleep during my first 8 hours off watch, but will try again now. 

It’s now 20:30 (8:30) on Friday night.  Sorry for the break in the action but sleeping has been my only remedy to kick those last nagging remnants of sea sickness.  I’ve kept all my meals down, but all day as we bucked the Baltic, the warm cabin below came with the burden of close your eyes and lay horizontal, or visit the nearest head. 

So, how am I feeling?  I asked for danger and got it.  I didn’t ask for nausea, though one can’t cherry pick everything, and got it.  I wanted adventure - who the hell has ever sailed the Baltic Sea, or more generally, could point it out on the globe?  Got it.  Meet random dudes with interesting back stories - check.   

Tonight, as my little Costa Rican helm mate and I steered the boat at a comfortable 8 knots, under a light (12 knot wind), on flat inter coastal seas as the sun set over the horizon, I was reminded why I love to sail.  Of course the bragging rights of a much-inflated survival story back home are worthwhile, but I’d have to be more shallow than you might already think to do this purely for others.  Your opinion of me is none of my business.  I can sit here now and smile at having survived one leg of an adventure, unscathed, with a fun story to tell, and an experience I can recall for a lifetime.  And, my grandkids will dig how cool I was back when we drove our own cars. 

In an hour we pull into dock, downtown Kalmar, Sweden, which I’m told has it’s own castle.  It’s Friday night, and I’m on vacation, so the castle will have to wait - I’m going to find rum. 

​Goodnight! 
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Sweden Sailing - Day 7

9/23/2021

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​Where is Royce? Click to Sail Along ⛵
​Thursday morning, 10:58am, anchored in the Swedish Archipelago, approximately 4 hours away from hoisting the hook and heading out into the Baltic.  We just finished a 90-minute safety briefing.  I couldn’t be more confident in the boat, and more importantly, the crew’s ability to survive an emergency.  As my safe return to the State’s seems to be everyone’s biggest concern, aside from Tara’s sanity in my absence, I thought it worthwhile before heading to sea to share what I learned this morning and why I’m feeling confident.  Secondarily, I still have the goal of skippering my own boat and crew offshore one day, so plagiarizing a system that works for 59 North sounds intelligent, if mildly illegal.  We’re in international waters, so pretty confident all laws are followed at my discretion.  

Emma is Andy’s first mate, which means she is responsible in redundancy to Andy for the safety of boat and crew, the two most important jobs of a captain/skipper.  Around 9:30 this morning, after wrapping up a Euro breakfast of sliced cheese, tomatoes, cucumbers, toast and plum jam, with black coffee and tea of course, we settled into the cabin to begin the safety briefing. 

All of us are now represented by a number.  There are 9 souls on board, so in the event of an emergency, where quick action is necessary or potential safety has been jeopardized, Emma begins an “accounting” for crew by shouting her number “1” loudly.  In succession, we yell our number.  Any gaps in the chain would indicate an injured or lost sailor and a bigger problem.  Andy made it clear at the outset that if you go in the water offshore, you’re likely dead, so, and this cannot be overemphasized, do NOT go in the water.  I am number 7. 

With each number, a job has been assigned via the “station bill," which indicates our job during an emergency: 
  1. Emma (First Mate) Comms 
  2. John - Medical Bags 
  3. Jim - Grab Bags 
  4. Nadim - Assist Andy 
  5. Jackson - Assist Emma 
  6. Florian - Life Raft 
  7. Me - Floater - Assist everyone 
  8. Alejandro - Life Raft 
  9. Andy (Captain) - Fix the Problem 

Comms:   
There are a number of redundancies on board to reach the outside world.  The ideal order of communication, though an emergency could throw order into chaos, would be to reach search and rescue via satellite phone and speak to them.  They know and we know a connection has been made.  The satellite phone is preprogrammed with numbers to relay stations in Denmark, Spain, UK and various other areas the boat might sail worldwide.  Any of those stations could relay our message to another part of the world where rescue operations could be conducted. 

Inside the “Grab Bag”, a yellow dry bag with “GRAB” written in large permanent marker and located behind the navigation station in the cabin, there are two EPIRBs.  Two for redundancy, an EPIRB (Emergency Position Indicating Radio Beacon) transmits a signal via satellite to worldwide rescue operations.  As the acronym highlights, our position in real time is transmitted until the battery dies - 3 days. 

Medical Bags: 
There exist three medical bags on board.  In total, they qualify to keep a crew safe to sail offshore in the remotest areas of the world.  Emma has been trained to administer all medical care supported by the medical equipment.  From simple bandages, to back splints, oxygen, Morphine, staple gun, splints, and antibiotics the three bags are filled with life-saving content I hope not to see again.   

I now have an answer to that nagging question around what to do in the middle of the Atlantic when you encounter an appendicitis?  This hits close to home, as I am one of three in a six-person family that still has that useless organ.  In my mind, it could go at any time, and Murphy’s Law of course guarantees that its failure will happen offshore in the middle of a sailing trip.  I was ensured that the boat’s supply of antibiotics, administered via IV, would be sufficient to survive a 3,000 mile passage (cross an ocean), with time to spare, where one of my buddies at Intuitive could get me under the care of a cutting-edge surgical robot.  Bring it, tummy ache. 

Grab Bags: 
In addition to the Comms, there are two heat-preserving hazmat suits that one would don after hopping into the life raft to avoid or slow hypothermia.  Finally, there are a handful of various flares to deploy for signaling…or fleeting entertainment for a bored crew, drifting across the Pacific.  After notifying the rescuer operation and deploying our EPIRBs, we would use a parachute flair (1,000 feet of loft before slowly drifting back to sea) to notify a ship we see on the horizon - can be viewed for 60-90 seconds from 30 miles.  The second flare simply shoots a glowing burst into the air, like a firework.  The third is a handheld flare that drips “liquid lava” according to Emma, so for the love of humanity, keep your arm out over the water so we don’t set fire to the life raft.  Finally, when the helicopter is in close proximity, deploy the floating flare that emits 60 seconds of orange smoke that can be viewed during daylight or via infrared goggles at night. 

There was no discussion of food, but can assume that both rafts (we have two - noticing the redundancy pattern?) equipped with a supply of Pringle’s, Candy Corn, and bubble tape providing the most important life-sustaining elements - high fructose corn syrup and potassium all while cleverly packaged to provide hours of entertainment.  I would also expect a handful of Maxim magazines and Home and Garden, located in your seat back pockets.  One can’t lose their whits while drifting helplessly toward the former Soviet Bloc in late autumn.  I clearly didn’t inquire, but  assume some version of food exists in the raft along with the tubes of water that are clearly marked “drink in case of emergency”. 

Fixing the Problem: 
First, remember Andy’s first rule of survival - stay with the boat.  Most “emergencies” on the water entail something that will not sink the boat.  As such, hopping into a self-deploying 12-man life raft is literally a last ditch effort to survive.  So, what constitutes an emergency: 

Fire - these could start because of an engine or an electrical mishap, but most likely an issue in the galley.  We’re constantly making hot water for coffee and tea, cooking on the stove or baking cookies in the oven.  Open flames and running lines of propane certainly need to be closely managed, but mistakes happen.  There are 6 fire extinguishers clearly marked on board.  We individually had to locate each one.  Water, followed by a fire blanket under the sink, followed by the fire extinguisher are the order of operations there. 

Leak - Not surprisingly, a boat‘s very existence is to retard the intake of water.  That battle is often lost in little skirmishes with the sea at various weak points.  Like Napolean, exploiting a hole in his enemy’s line, the sea looks for “through hulls”, which are the holes in the hull of the boat below the waterline.  These “ports” have various functions including to supply water to cool the engine, wash the dishes or flush the toilet.  There are similar holes through which water must exit the cooled engine, washed dishes and, yes, soiled toilet.  A laminated diagram of every through hull lives in the navigation table.  Next to each of these holes, attached to the seacock which is a device to shut off the intake or output hose, there is a wooden plug.  Pound one of those bad boys into the hole, and you’ll avoid a slow trip on a life raft to the little island of Elba where our Frenchman, having lost his skirmishes, spent his remaining days. 

If that method for stopping the leak fails, the first backup is the bilge pump.  The bilge is the lowest point in the boat, where any water entering said boat eventually arrives.  The bilge is checked by all crew coming off watch (every 4 hours).  Slow leaks, or any indication of water entering the boat is commonly discovered first in the bilge.  If water starts coming in too quickly, there is an engine-powered pump that Emma explained will remove water at the pace a fire-hose exhausts a fire.  Sections of the boat are also divided by bulk-heads, which are water tight dividers that, when closed, shut off an area of the boat that is flooding.  Yes, I understand the Titanic had them as well.  But, we don’t plan to run into any icebergs.  And, need I remind you, DiCaprio had an Ohio accent so one should question the entire legitimacy of the film.  

Life Raft: 
As mentioned, this really is our last resort.  Having watched Titanic and read Dead Wake (Lusitania sinking), successfully boarding a life boat is nothing short of a small miracle.  Picture a wild sea state, gale-force winds, precipitation, darkness, injuries, whistling rigging, and mass chaos whilst trying to leap into a moving target, burdened by your foul weather gear, deployed life jacket, and fear.  Again, survival is achieved by staying with the boat. 

After all of those redundancies of communication and sustenance, the remaining question is how long before we’re out of luck?  Didn’t I hear the batteries on the EPIRB die after a few days?  How long will that rechargeable lithium battery on the sat phone last?  Water in pouches, stored in a self-contained box of a deflated life-boat - how many days will that keep a crew of 9 hydrated?  The answer to all of this:  we have about 3 days of discovery, before the chance of survival plummets to Vegas-like odds of rescue. 

This all begs a question:  Why would someone with any sense of self-preservation sign up for something as dangerous or feel more at ease following the aforementioned calamitous briefing?  To that, I might ask when your family last discussed your fire escape route.  Or thought through the dangers of driving up to Vail on a Saturday in light snow, before encountering the irrefutable perils you face once you arrive to ski.  The point, we have a plan.  We have able-bodied adults who I’ve discovered are fully functioning and a capable crew, despite our shared insensible sense of adventure.  We have a well-tested skipper and first mate who I trust.  And we have a boat who I sailed yesterday in 25 knot winds on a deep heel (picture a boat sailing at 15-20 degrees off it’s midline) and felt safe. 

So, I am well aware of the dangers and equally confident in our survival.  We have a few last minute items to address and then will be heading offshore, but Keep tracking us on the Garmin.  I’ll update the blog from Germany.   
​
Hegdo!  (See ya, in Swedish) 


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Sweden Sailing - Day 6

9/22/2021

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​Where is Royce? Click to Sail Along ⛵
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8am, Stockholm.  Well friends, it’s go time.  Although still tied to the dock, we are moved onto IceBear, the 59 foot 1991 Swan sailing vessel that will escort us to the UK.  The 7-man (he/him) crew showed up yesterday afternoon at 17:00, unpacked duffels, and settled in.  Introductions to follow but I’m getting ahead of myself.  Let’s go back to yesterday morning, nursing a hangover in my PJs in the grand ballroom. 

Had I been more responsible the night prior, I may have enjoyed breakfast and all the Swedish sampling’s with more vigor.  Aside from some fish and satisfying my pancake craving, I couldn’t bring myself to eating.  I left the room a little disappointed in my lack of sensibility.  Tara of course is “'told you so’ ing“ as she reads this.  

The business center helped me accomplish some last minute work tasks before signing off for a couple weeks.  God bless the fully capable RZA crew back home taking care of all families.  I would be landlocked without them. 

Back in the room, there were fleeting ambitions of showering, and tackling another day of adventuring on the streets of Stockholm.  Those quickly vanished, replaced by finishing the book I had started on Friday (Dead Wake) and indulging in a two-hour nap.  This would, I convinced myself, be the last cozy bed for a fortnight.  All excuses for my sophomoric behavior the night prior.   

The ending to the story of the Lusitania came as no surprise.  Even so, reading about the sinking of a passenger cruise line having befriended so many of the characters over the previous few days was still heart wrenching.  Poor old Alfred Vanderbilt was never found, along with over 1,000 other poor souls.  The event at the time, broadcast around the world, felt much like the 9/11 of the day though shadowed by a backdrop of men dying 10,000 at a time, daily, in the gruesome trench warfare that was WWI’s signature.  My generation can’t comprehend the enormity of that time period, the international involvement, and the absolute slaughter of millions. 

And with those peaceful thoughts, I drifted off to some of the best sleep in three days.  I just cannot make sense of my sleep rhythms.  I’m here in Europe, and my clock seems to be stuck in a time warp back in Colorado. 

Having promised Charley that I would use the oversized tub before checking out, and again realizing the fleeting opportunities to bath, I opted for a continuation of my laziness that was marking the day, and treated myself to a homemade spa. 

Alejandro texted an hour later, as I was a few pages into my next book, Hawaii, by James Michener an 1100-page saga I’ve been anxious to read for a decade.  From the first sentence, I’m hooked:  “Millions upon millions of years ago, when the continents were already formed and the principal features of the earth had been decided, there existed, then as now, one aspect of the world that dwarfed all others.  It was a mighty ocean…” Genius.  If you have nothing going on in your life for the next two-three weeks, perhaps you’ll have a read.  Oh, and if you’re too dull to recognize a theme, I’m reading about water.  It will come as no surprise, that if I summit Everest by finishing Michener, Old Man and the Sea patiently awaits in my duffel. 

Bathed, dressed, hydrated, and sober, I headed downstairs to the lobby bar to enjoy some coffee and await my old crew mate.  20 minutes later, my always well-dressed, always smiling, always sarcastic, short, balding, bespectacled Costa Rican friend, Alejandro, came sauntering into the bar, duffel on one shoulder, backpack over the other.  I fucking love this guy. 

We all have those friends that we may not see or talk to for months, perhaps years, and it is as easy to settle back into the familiarity as throwing on that favorite sweatshirt at the end of a work day.  Cozy, simple, no judgment.  We sat for a few minutes at the bar, scarfing down the olives I ordered to accompany an afternoon latte.  Clearly, my system was ready for nourishment again.  Those rigorous days of bathing and napping can wreak havoc on your appetite. 

We decided to walk to lunch, which gave me the opportunity to showcase my aforementioned geographic expertise of Stockholm - or at least the 5 square blocks I had explored since arriving.  We “happened” upon the same church I discovered the prior day, though someone as worldly as a Costa Rican with dual Spanish citizenship, English children, and a Bumble account on several continents probably finds my star-struck response to old Cathedrals childlike.  If he does, I didn’t experience his judgment.   

We made a regrettable stop for lunch at a sushi buffet.  Visiting an island state known for fishing, I convinced myself that no bad fish existed here, even if served behind a sneeze guard like its distant cousin, Panda Express Kung Pao Chicken. Shame on both of us for thinking buffet-style seafood was ever a good idea.  I’ve had better meals, reheated, from the Holiday Inn.  Still, we enjoyed catching up on all the excitement in our lives. 

And, with the waning minutes of freedom on land, we paid a quick visit to the boat, met the captain, and promised we would report for duty within the hour.  One final jaunt through the city I can’t wait to revisit, with Tara in tow, and we were back at the hotel, hefting bags and catching a cab to Ice Bear.   
​
It’s now 21:42 on Wednesday evening, after a long day of sailing, so I’m too tired to discuss the crew and the dinner upon reaching the boat.  Tomorrow we go offshore, and I’ll have plenty of time to reflect, share, and highlight the, well, highlights.  ‘Night. 
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Sweden Sailing - Day 5

9/21/2021

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​Where is Royce? Click to Sail Along ⛵
It’s 7:30 on Tuesday morning.  I am sitting next to a marble column holding up what used to be the outer wall of our hotel in the Vintergarden, a three-story atrium, built in the late 1800s that has since been enclosed.  There is a brunch laid out across four massive tables displaying everything from pickled and mustard herring (I tried both) to shots of blueberry juice.  This would rival the famous Sunday brunch at the Broadmoor.  I showed up to this white glove affair in my pajamas.  Idiot. 

Today is my last day on land for awhile.  We report to the boat this afternoon at 17:00.  I’m a little nervous and excited, anticipating the adventure that lay ahead for which I’ve dreamed about the better part of a year.  But first I have an entire day’s worth of Stockholm exploration to unpack from yesterday.  I believe I left you at breakfast.  I’ll pick up from there… 

The walk to breakfast was a half mile jaunt along cobblestone roads that branch off the waterfront.  Waterfront really doesn’t explain much, as this entire city is built on an archipelago of islands.  In a car, you could cross a dozen bridges in as many minutes.   

I was told to head over to the “old city," which is across a bridge in front of our hotel.  The island houses the royal family palace, parliament, one of the oldest churches in the city, and is a spiderweb of narrow cobblestone streets dating back a few hundred years.  It is every part old world Europe.  En route, I happened across a massive church, the Hedvig Eleonora, named for Sweden’s queen from 1636-1715.  The church was consecrated in 1737.  One would be hard pressed to find anything that old in the US.  This was just parked along my neighborhood walk.  

After passing my hotel, and snapping a few photos of the façade—the Grand Hotel dates back to the 1800s (modern in relation to some of its neighbors) and is as architecturally striking as any building downtown—I crossed the bridge leading to the palace.  All three entrances to the palace, where I learned the royal family no longer lives but works each day, are guarded by a soldier who stands at attention, marches about at very choreographed times of the hour, and poses nicely for the throngs of tourists snapping photos.  Eager to explore the old town, I passed on a ticket into the grounds, but learned a little about the structure before moving on:  Built from 1697 to 1760, the palace serves the monarchy today in the king’s duties as head of state, which include counting his fortune, hosting balls and slaying dragons.  All in a day’s work. 

I spent the next hour getting lost along the multitude of narrow streets dissecting this old city, frozen in time.  One humorous chink in the historic armor was the TGIFridays under construction and coming soon.  One can’t stop capitalism with iron gates and ramparts, apparently.  I made the mistake of entering one of the scores of shop fronts selling authentic Swedish wares and was almost talked into a wool tunic perfect for my daughters, should they get lost in a snow storm on the set of Frozen 3.  I politely thanked the elder woman helping me, and wished her luck in visiting her grandchildren she hasn’t seen in a couple years (they live in North Carolina—with their wardrobe of unusable authentic wool clothing grandma has sent over the years, no doubt). 

Back at the hotel, I had lunch, coffee and then headed back to my room to don my robe for the spa treatment I had booked on reserving my room.  Not one to turn my nose at the opportunity for a good rub down. I have plenty of experience at some very nice grottos back in the states.  I would put the Grand Hotel up against the St. Regis, the Ritz, the Phoenician, the Four Seasons, and any number of off-brand spas I’ve visited in my lifetime.  I mean the Swedish massage was invented here!   

With 45 minutes to spare, I put the Jewish triathlon to shame.  I spent time in the sauna, the warm water pool in a candlelit grotto, sat in the reclined stone seat in a hot tub fed by one of Sweden’s freshwater lakes, steamed, and then rinsed off in the rain shower before sitting down to finish my book.  Could this get any better?   

To my disappointed surprise, I wasn’t greeted by Elsa or Anna when it came time for my massage, but rather Nassau, a Greek male masseuse.  There must be a mistake, I said, for I ordered a, um, female masseuse, no disrespect.  Apologizing, he said that there were none available, unless I wanted to rebook another day or time.  Ugh.  So much for my Swedish fantasy coming true.    

After a shower to rinse off the massage lotion and any lingering remnants of man hands, I dressed and stopped by concierge to get a recommendation for a happening spot on a Monday night.  Astoria is a great new place, the friendly Swede at the front desk shared with a smile.  I walked back in the direction of breakfast, beginning to master my Stockholm geography even if I couldn’t pronounce any of their damn street names. 

The next several hours were spent at Astoria with my new bartender friend, Thomas.  (Picture enclosed) Hailing from France by way of Thailand, I learned that he was the byproduct of a French diplomat mother and Thai father.  What brought you to Sweden, I asked.  His Norwegian girlfriend, of course.  Duh. 

Thomas took me on an adventure of the palette (and liver), from a tuna gazpacho soup to the best halibut I’ve ever tasted,  paired with wine, vodka, St. Germain, tequila, coffee, Champaign, and more tequila.  By the time I left at 10pm, I had offered he and his girlfriend lodging in Denver when they visit, toured the entire restaurant, learned of his postponed engagement, surprise 2-week trip to Korea, and his love of Japan.  Stumbling back to the Grand, I was pleased at how much of Stockholm I had experienced in 12 short hours.  Had I run into Sven and Olaf on the way back to my little palace, I wouldn’t have been surprised.  Though, after all that liquor, I’m not convinced I didn’t have a spirited dialogue with a talking snowman on my walk home. 

And that brings me back to stumbling into the grand ballroom this morning in my PJs, still a little off balance from last night.  Nothing some fresh fish, coffee and…swedish pancakes(!) couldn’t remedy. 

It’s 8:38.  Might be time for this day to get started.  My friend Alejandro said he’d be landing and downtown by 13:00.  I think I’ll do a little family shopping before he arrives…now if I can only find that old woman with the wool tunics… 
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Sweden Sailing - Day 4

9/20/2021

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​Where is Royce? Click to Sail Along ⛵
It’s 10:20, Monday morning…downtown Stockholm.  I made it.  Sigh. 

I’m enjoying a latte and omelette at the bar of a restaurant named for it’s address - Nybrogatan 38.  I can’t discern whether the bartender was annoyed or mildly entertained when I asked for Swedish Pancakes.  I considered caviar on rye before deciding I had enough excitement in the last two days and opted for safety. 

While I’m nourishing, let me bring the world (7 of you reading this - thanks mom for the support) up to speed on the last 24 hours. 

It’s not often when a plan, or a backup plan in my case, goes off without a hitch.  As hypothesized yesterday, clearing customs in an EU country (France in my case) brought me within the rule of law under Sweden’s ban, and other than a wide grin by the Swedish border agent last night when asked where I was from (He was very fond of Denver International Airport, apparently) I was allowed entrance without any fan fare.  The lack of excitement was almost disappointing following the previous nights’ drama. 

Reflecting back on my tour de Europe, aboard my various Boeing, train and auto escorts, I have much to share.  These thematic reflections hopefully widen the lens on what I observed on my travels yesterday.  I assume a chronological listing of what I did, saw or ate would bore you to tears…had I not lost you already.  These of course are my highlights, and should be judged accordingly… 

Humanity 

When I landed back at Heathrow, I held a non-business class ticket.  Unlike my first time through, where I had access to a world immune or neutralized of all imperfections, I was now among the “commoners”.  The pungent smells, the bustling, the heat, and overall chaos was exciting and somewhat overwhelming.  I finally collected my luggage, which seemed like a small miracle having handed it off to a ticket agent in the mountains 36 hours prior.  Somehow it followed me.  Oh, if that bag could talk.

Shouldering the 50lbs of gear, I rushed down to the train that shuttled me to a new terminal a mile away.  “Do not miss the next stop, or you’ll end up in central London”, the ticket agent warned me.  Mmm, Paddington Station and all of London’s glory or another 4 hours on various airplanes… 

10 minutes later, I hoisted my burden and hustled up an escalator, through a couple tunnels, up the stairs, across the street and into a mass of people, sweating.  I found the Air France airline ticket counter to check my bags and found myself in a line snaking through a dimly fluorescent-lit cavernous terminal.  British Airways Club level was a distant memory.  

When I finally caught my bearings, I looked around.  I realized I was the one short white male in a sea of black, Indian, Asian, Persian, and multiple flavors of people.  And…I felt totally at ease.  It hit me for the first time since leaving Denver, that I was not in, well, Kansas anymore.   

The suburban, mostly white, upper middle-class bubble that confines my existence had popped.  I saw Europe and perhaps humanity for what I think it is: this multi-cultural, blended mass of people, living in close proximity, and perfectly color blind.  It was awesome - I took off my sweaty jacket, removed my noise-cancelling headphones, and took it all in.  Europe, and specifically that crowded terminal at Heathrow, reminded me that I am part of a much larger world than the little space I occupy in Denver.  America may be a continent, but is most certainly not an island.   

It didn’t go unnoticed that everyone was better dressed than me.  Perhaps that tailored suit would have been worth packing after all. 

Efficiency 

Let’s not forget that 24 hours ago I held only a return ticket home from London.  I was able to purchase, without first refinancing my house, 2 one-way airline fares via my smart phone (which works perfectly well over here) to travel across multiple nations, purchase necessities (enjoyed a Starbucks in Paris) in multiple currencies (thanks Visa) and arrive back where I started, on time, without any trouble.  It was like I ventured out of my house in the morning, walked through a number of colorful neighborhoods, and returned home, unscathed, though exhausted, 12 hours later.  The efficiency of moving people over here is mind numbing.  I don’t think a flight has left O‘hare on time in 50 years.  Not so on this side of the Atlantic. 

Clearing customs in the UK simply entailed walking up to a machine, scanning my US passport, and walking through a turnstile.  Churchill and Roosevelt would be so pleased to know we’ve remained friends over the years. 

Boarding and de-boarding planes here is an art.  There is an upper floor that walks down a bridge to the plane, while all de-boarding passengers walk down a separate bridge to a lower floor where they get their baggage and clear customs.   

Efficiency aside, one oddity at the airports I cannot figure out is the withholding of gate assignments until 20 minutes prior to boarding.  Every plane I’ve caught over here lacks a home until the last minute, when a gate is announced, and you run like hell to find where your plane is located before it’s no longer located there, and you’re left holding your tea and crumpets.  Either this is an efficient way to get people moving, or keep them shopping in the endless maze of fragrances and duty free vodka that occupies every square inch of Heathrow and Charles De Gaul.   

Oh, and did I mention how my bag, like R2D2, has followed me everywhere, on his own little adventure belowdecks.  Efficiency.  Europe has it. 

Socialism and the Baggage Cart 

This one may stir some blood, especially for those friends in the financial world who equate this word (Socialism) with Bernie Sanders, Anderson Cooper or mediocrity, equally grotesque in their minds.   

Remember that burden of a bag I began lugging around the UK train/airport depot after falling out of favor with the upper class?  Well that thing started to get fucking heavy after a couple days on the road, with little or no food and a lack of sleep.  By the time I got to France and had to de-plane, gather my bag, clear customs, and recheck everything again, I was looking for some relief.  I noticed for the first time that most people who didn’t have rolling luggage were simply utilizing the FREE carts that were perfectly organized near baggage.  It dawned on me that they existed in the UK as well, and I was too blind to notice.    

Now, mind you, these things only cost $5 where I’ve used them in the States, but whether it is my “can-do” attitude (carry your own bag, you puss) or religious discomfort in spending even frivolous money, I only “splurge” on a cart when I have my family of 6 in tow, with countless pounds of senseless overpacking.  It seems lazy to throw my one, though increasingly heavy, duffel on a cart.  But, haven’t I somehow paid for that cart already?  Along the way a tax on my ticket or an airport fee or some way of financing that “free” cart already occurred.  So I grabbed one.  And all of a sudden, my journey became easier.  I was happier.  And I took notice of, well, a benefit of a socialistic system. 

What about the other side of this positive viewpoint.  Recall, there were carts being used back in the UK.  I paid for those too.  But I didn’t use one.  Should I feel bad for having financed something I didn’t use?  And, perversely, they were being used by people that didn’t look, or smell (they were certainly better bathed at that point), or spoke, or practiced religion, like me.  Oh, the unfairness! 

I didn’t care.  In fact, In reflection, it felt good that I had somewhere along the way paid a fee I never noticed to make their day a little better.  Maybe their happiness from the free carts I financed accounted for my comfort in standing next to them, unthreatened, in line.  Who knows.  Karma, or socialism, has a noticeable effect. 

I’ve been struggling with sleep the last few days, even while tucked into 1,000 thread Egyptian Cotton sheets last night, trying to get my circadian rhythm back.  During last night’s two-hour mind toss, I was unpacking these reflections on Socialism further: 

I sometimes struggle or “feel” spending money.  I really don’t perceive myself as cheap, but when one is in the mindset of saving and accumulating at this age, or burdened by the obligations of a family and a house payment, a business and all the responsibility there in, one can’t help but feel a sense of “loss” when money is spent, however large or small.  I have read about the same chemical reaction in the brain that occurs when money is spent that is triggered in a fight/flight response.  So, is there an enhancement to happiness (like I felt with the cart) when you receive something without noticing or “suffering” the $5 payment in my cart example? 

It was 3am and I couldn’t sleep…my mind kept wandering:  Take an all-inclusive resort example:  Assuming over the course of a week you give nominally more money to a resort, but make one payment at the outset or conclusion and then eat, stay and play for “free” versus paying less at the beginning or end, but “suffering” ala cart fees for each meal, lounge chair or source of entertainment, are you happier?  I now realize I am.   

I’ve never thought about why I love Southwest Airlines so much.  I pay one fee, sit with whoever I get, can change my ticket at any point, and R2D2 can bring a friend or two without additional costs.  If I don’t change my ticket, don’t check two bags, or want to pick a particular place on the plane, I don’t benefit from the price I paid, but I might down the road.  This at odds with United, where I buy a ticket and then get nickel and dimed for bags, seat assignment, changes to my flight, wireless service, etc.  Both airlines are making money - I guess I just appreciate the one time payment, and mindless effort thereafter.  

So, Socialism in Europe, sounds like taxpayers “suffering” more than Americans at the outset or conclusion of the year, to experience “free” (carts or healthcare) along the way.  Are they happier?  Perhaps.   

Ok.  I hope I didn’t lose any friends during that diatribe.  I’m not voting for the Green Party next election, but my eyes are now open to a system I clearly never understood, and probably scoffed at in the past.  I’ll be less judgmental about my European friends and their socialism moving forward. 

And for those of you who’s blood pressure rose during my observations, relax, your bubble will protect you from Socialism and Andersen Cooper.  But, for the love of humanity, stick with Club Level or you’ll  find yourself in a sea of discomfort. 

​Ok.  I don’t know the rules around loitering in this country, but my breakfast is long since finished, and after this second Americano, I may just levitate out of here.  I only have one day to experience Stockholm, so better get started.  Taka (Thanks) for listening.   

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    We're the Zimmerman Family!
    Home Base | Denver, CO 
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    A family of six that
    LOVES to sail ! ​ 
    Follow our crew (Royce, Tara, Avery, Charley, Nora & Ruby)
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    Set Sail 9.22.21 
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