Sweden Sailing - Day 6

​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.   
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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.