The weather! Beautiful, sunny, calm spring day–the warmest one since I have been here.

Shopping: I waited to buy souvenirs until I had been to St. Andrews; if day 1-4 was all about sight seeing, today was all about shopping and since I had been so many places, I think I found some pretty good deals.

The relaxed day: no crazy 8 hours of  on-a-mission-style walking. I sat when I felt like it, took detours when I felt l like it, knowing I’d find my way.

The midday break: in the middle of the afternoon, I  went back to my hotel–the shopping bags where getting to clumsy to carry around. I walked to Princes Street and found a bus that would take me closer to the hotel. It was the first and only bus trip back to the hotel. I packed, confirmed my flight, and did all those other last minute things one needs to do before flying.

Decluttering: I love this feeling of getting rid of things one no longer needs and making what is left as compact as possible. This is what I hope to do in my house this year as well, but it is easier to recognize what one doesn’t need when you have to fit it all in a carry-on suitcase.

The food: breakfast of the most delicious waffles EVER and, of course, bacon. Dinner of Indian food–Kerela Chili Chicken, naan, rice, and a King Fisher beer.

Mailing a package home: In order to have room for souvenirs, I stopped by the post office this morning. As long as that package arrives safely home to me, the postage is well worth it.

Overall, I will miss Edinburgh and Scotland in general. I loved the countryside and the villages. Spring is more evident here than in Edinburgh. The lambs running around, the flowers blooming, the warmth of the sun even against the sea winds from the Firth of Forth are all clear indicators that spring is all around–and yet, the horses were still wrapped up in their Scottish blankets so spring has surely only just arrived. I feel very happy to have been in Scotland. It makes me content and hopeful for things to come. I think I’m ready now to go home.

Driving out on the cobblestone streets outside Edinburgh Castle–a road that is over 400 years old along the Royal Mile that had the “protection of the castle” on one side and “the wealth and political power of the palace” on the other (Peter, the tour guide). 

Seeing the shut in windows and finding out it was to avoid the “daylight robbery tax” when the English government decided to tax buildings based on the number of windows they had.

Seeing Fettes College–the private secondary school that both Ian Fleming and Tony Blair once attended.

Eating the caramelized shortbread with the layer of chocolate on top for breakfast that I purchased on one of our stops along the way.

Learning about Ducats–pigeon houses that are scattered around Fife that would allow the people to have fresh meat in the winter.

Peter’s quote about Scotland being “blessed with a cool climate–too cold for beach holidays” or the shoreline would be covered in high rise vacation spots.

Hearing about the story about Alexander III–although it is sad that he rode off a cliff trying to get  back to his  new bride, it was an interesting story.

Figuring out that when Peter said Kirkcaldy was a lang toun, he really was saying it was a long town.

Feeling the sea wind coming off the Firth of Forth.

The Firth of Forth.

St. Andrews! The Old Course, the Cathedral, the Castle, the British Golf Museum! 

Calling home from St. Andrews and sharing my day.

Hearing Bodhi say “hiya” and “I.”

Seeing Loch Leven and the island where Mary, Queen of Scots, was imprisoned for a year.

The people on the trip: Peter, the tour guide; a family of 4 from Canada who have been traveling since the beginning of March; a couple from D.C., a couple from Spokane; a mother daughter duo; and a girl from Iowa who studies at St. Thomas and whose sister lives in Apple Valley–small world!

Peter’s quote about Lothian road, “I don’t recommend it. Avoid it if you can.” I avoided it.

Being asked directions during the day in two different locations.

Having a full day touring Fife!

Thai food for dinner back in Edinburgh. You  know what I had; you don’t even have to ask. 

We pass Shakespeare on Lothian Road when the lady in front of me gets off and the Spanish speaking couple quickly move in front of me blocking the nice view I had coveted only a moment earlier. I cannot blame them though since everyone would want an unobstructed view of our 8 mile ride south. In any case, I have already been walking for a couple of hours and I am happy to have a seat anywhere–obstructed view or not.  

I spent the morning walking around New Town for a bit and then walked back toward Old Town stopping at the National Galleries of Scotland. From there I headed back to Old Town to exchange some dollars into pounds using Warrington  Close as a shortcut. Now, I was ready to head out of town and made my way back to Princes Street.

The drive out of Edinburgh is lovely. We pass gardens and churches. There are flowers blooming in spring yellows and purples with bright friendly red scattered amongst them. The blue sky is trying to peek around the clouds–and  then the sky seems to open up; the sun bursts forth and the land stretches out and up in front of me. Rolling hills lay to the east and a large hill rises to the west. This is the Scotland I have been waiting to see without knowing it somehow until it was before me. Flocks of sheep feast on the new spring grass in the fields. The smell of manure hits me suddenly and I wait patiently for this to pass or for my nose to grow more accustomed to it. 

The ride to the village of Roslin takes about 30 minutes and Rosslyn Chapel is easy to find from the bus stop. The Chapel is impressive  despite its small stature and every inch seems to be covered in history.  The stone is intricately carved and the guide gives us great information both about the history of the chapel and the filming of the Da Vinci Code. Photography is not allowed inside the chapel, which is a new policy according to the man working at the near-by cafe that I stopped at later for a latte with semi-skim milk. This forced me to purchase some postcards of pictures of the interior of the chapel, which I didn’t mind doing since they need to money for continued restoration of the Chapel. The coolest part of  the chapel, and I mean that literally since the chapel currently  has no heat, is the tombs below. The actual tomb is sealed off and has been sealed off by the family, I think the guide said, for 300 years.  Supposedly, the tombs are as long and as deep as the Chapel itself. What you can see starts with the stairs going down to the tombs where the making of the Da Vinci Code left a “hollywood circle” scar from where they glued a Star of David. The tombs ceiling is amazingly high and it didn’t look tomb-like, but it felt like a meat cooler and the fact that we could see our breathe made it feel tomb-like somehow. 

After leaving the Chapel, I wandered around for a little bit, but there wasn’t much to do in this very quiet village. I had just missed the bus back to Edinburgh so I went to get a latte and walked down a few streets. Most of the time as I walked, the only sound I could hear were my own footsteps. The bus came 50 minutes later and I was heading back to Edinburgh.

Once I got back to Edinburgh, I walked around New Town again. I tried to go to the National Portrait Gallery, but I couldn’t figure out how to get there.  Where it should have been was partitioned off due to construction. Finally, after walking around for, what I deemed, long enough–I gave up and decided to walk home. I  did manage to see a lot of New Town though, which will have to be good enough for now. Maybe Thursday I will try it again since tomorrow I am taking a bus tour to St.  Andrews and Fife. For now, I say adieu.

Today started with a delicious breakfast at the Glenalmond House, where I am staying while in Scotland. One can choose from a variety of things from waffles to pancakes to haggis, which is pre-ordered the night before. My choice: hard boiled eggs, bacon, toast, grilled tomato, and mushrooms. This might be normal fare for me on any vacation minus the bacon, but the bacon here is so delicious I just cannot resist. It also gives me a lot of fuel for a day filled with a lot of walking. At breakfast I met an English couple who are in Edinburgh working on their family tree. They have been researching this for over two years. Today, they were going to go the Catholic archives and then tomorrow to the National Library. They are reading letters relating to their family and translating them from Old English and Old Scottish. I was pretty impressed by all of this. 

After breakfast, I had an interesting time with the shower as the temperature kept vacillating from cold to scalding hot without my doing anything. I had to move out of the water at regular intervals and try to catch the water when it was in the middle temperature. It was a bit like dodging in and out of the sprinkler from youth. Finally, at 10 am, I was ready to head out for the day.

My adventure on this sunny, windy day started with a bus ride to South Bridge. From there, I walked to Edinburgh Castle happily recognizing the places I had come across yesterday and thinking I had a good handle on Old Town now. I spent over two hours at Edinburgh Castle where I saw the room that Mary, Queen of Scots, gave birth to James the VI of Scotland (James I of England) along  with the Stone of Scone and the Crown Jewels. Also at the Castle is the Scottish National War Memorial, Mons Meg Vaults Prison, a military prison for Scottish soldiers, the United Service Museum, and St. Margaret’s Chapel. There is also the Great Hall, the Governor’s House, and the Royal Dragoon guards building. No wonder I spent so much time here! 

After the Edinburgh Castle, I stopped by the National Library to have a Latte and figure out what to do next. I then walked to the Museum of Scotland, which consists of six floors of Scottish history ranging from the geology of Scotland to the technological advances it has made. There are archaeological exhibits and a Hillman Imp, one of the last 500 automobiles to be manufactured in Scotland–and everything else in between. I spent a considerable amount of time here as well. 

My next stop was to be the Writer’s Museum. I thought that I knew how to find it, but I ended up taking a 50 minute walking detour with a mixture of Burns and Shakespeare lines running through my head: “…the best laid plans,” “…security is mortal’s chiefest enemy….” Eventually, I found where I was on the map and ended up right outside Edinburgh Castle. Since I was there, I thought I should at least book my trip to St. Andrews and the Village of Fife on Wednesday with Timberbush Tours since their office is located at Castlehill. I tried to book a tour for Rosslyn Chapel, Scottish Borders & Glenkinchie Distillery for Thursday, but they were all booked.  The nice sales agent told me, instead, how to get to Rosslyn Chapel on my own so I might try to do that tomorrow.

Finally, I made my way to the Writer’s Museum, which contains photographs, letters, manuscripts, and relics of Robert Burns, Sir Walter Scott, and Robert Louis Stevenson. There is also a printing press on the top floor. The Robert Louis Stevenson part was my favorite so I spent most of my time at the museum here, which is located in the basement of the building and the last place on my tour. 

After this museum, I felt contented that I had done enough with my day–that I had as RLS did, traveled hopefully today and that I had laboured in doing so, which surely meant I had had a successful day. I started walking home, but made two detours: detour 1) a pub to have a pint; detour 2) a convenient store to buy a chocolate bar (this time a Cadbury dairy milk fruit and nut bar). Now, it was 5:30 and my day two in Edinburgh was complete.

I’m afraid of busses. I know this is irrational,  but it’s true. Maybe it is from the time where my college roommate Lisa and I tried to use busses in Duluth only to get lost for hours that ruined my experiences with busses as a means of public transportation or maybe it is my sheer unwillingness to learn to use them properly that has built this inner terror of them.  I don’t know, but I don’t like just hopping on a bus and waiting in the hopes that it will bring you to where you want to go.

On the other hand, I slightly strained a hip flexor earlier in the day and I didn’t much relish the idea of walking that seemingly long mile. The bus was really the best option. I gathered the correct change needed for the bus ride, stashed it separately in my jeans’ pocket, and started walking north along Mayfield Garden which then turns into Minto Street which turns into Newington Road that later changes to South Clerk Street, Clerk Street, Nicolson Street, South Bridge and then North Bridge, respectively. I caught a bus around Minto Street, watching the girl in front of me for the correct procedure and followed her lead. Easy. 

I got off on Princes Street and then meandered around to the Scott Monument, down Waverly Bridge and around Market Street.  Pretty soon, I didn’t know where I was. I consulted the map  frequently, but if you know me at all, you know my sense of direction is nonexistent. Eventually, I stopped for a slice of pizza on Chambers Street and tried to re-acclimate myself. The problem was I was looking for St. Giles Cathedral, that isn’t actually a Cathedral, and was looking at the St. Giles area on the map instead.  Aha. Progress. Eventually, I ate my slice of pepperoni  pizza and asked the people working there for directions. 

I found St. Giles  Cathedral quickly after that and then met up with the tour with ten minutes to spare even though I had left my hotel two hours earlier—and I rode the bus for speed. You know what they say about short cuts…

The tour itself was led by a man named Martin who has been working for this company for five years.  He was very good at his job and managed to make us all jump a few times in the  two  hours  we were together. I learned about the terrible effects of the plague and how Edinburgh thought it was witches that was causing it.  This then made them burn all the cats, which of course allowed the rat population to flourish. I learned about the old and new ways of hanging people and the dreadful hangings that didn’t go so smoothly, as hanging go at any rate. I learned about closes that are narrow streets that were once enclosed by gates on both sides and I learned a little more than I cared to about how the inhabitants got rid of their feces before they had toilets. That was all in the above street portion of the tour.  We then spent  a half an hour in the Vaults built in the 18th century underneath the South Bridge and that is when it changed from historical darkness to creepy ghost stories. This is the part of the city that the BBC calls the most haunted place in the UK. The tour ended in Megget’s Cellar where we had a drink and heard about body snatchers and the notorious Irish serial killers Burke and Hare who then brought the murdered victims bodies to the medical school in Edinburgh who paid them handsomely since they needed bodies to study. 

After the tour, I had to decide once again if I should catch the bus or walk home. I stopped and got a candy bar to get the exact change I would need, but after the beer I drank, I could barely feel the strained muscle so I walked the seemingly short mile home. All in all, I learned three important lessons on my adventure this evening. 

1) Make sure you know what you are looking for on the  map in order to find it in real life.

2) Candy bars are never a bad idea.

3) Beer makes the body feel better.  

It is 9:35 am in Edinburgh and coffee never tasted so good. I am currently sitting in Deacon Brodie’s  cafe while Katy Perry’s California Girls plays, eating a breakfast of slightly watery scrambled eggs, thick-cut bacon, and toast and savoring every sip of this steaming hot coffee. 

I left Minneapolis yesterday at 2:20  pm. After a short layover in Newark, I was Edinburgh bound by 7:45 pm. I watched The Chronicles of Narnia: Voyage of the Dawn Treader on the plane.  I should have known better than  to watch it with other people around because the ending of the book always makes me cry; the movie is no different. As luck would have it, the seat next to me was empty and I was able to stretch out a bit and get a few hours of sleep after my dinner and movie. I woke up just in time for a breakfast of fruit and a croissant. I started watching Harry Potter after that and chatted with the lady sharing my row. She teaches Italian and is going to St. Andrew’s to attend an Italian women’s writer conference. I thought it sounded really interesting; she seemed surprised by my reaction. I liked her a lot though and she was kind enough to give me a wet wipe when my blue ink pen leaked all over my hand. 

After landing 30 minutes early, I took a airport shuttle to Waverly station in the center of Edinburgh. Then I took one of those really cool black British taxis to my hotel. I arrived at the hotel at 7:30 am–quite early since check-out  isn’t until 10 am and the occupant of my soon-to-be new abode was still soundly asleep as was everyone in the very quiet hotel except for the two people working who I assume are the owners–the woman who checked me in and stashed my luggage away and the man who was cooking breakfast. She then gave me a map of Edinburgh and suggested that I go for a walk until 11 am “since we didn’t know you’d be here so early.”  So, that’s what I did. 

I walked from my hotel on Mayfield Garden up to Holyrood Park Road and I hiked up Salisbury Crags in Holyrood Park until I hit Holyrood Road.  I then walked passed the Palace of Holyroodhouse, which  is the Queen’s official residence when she is in Scotland. I walked past the Scotland Parliament building that cost over $400 million pounds to build. I walked west on Cannongate, the Royal Mile, where it seems every other store has kilts on sale. I stopped at Cannongate Church where a man originally from Glasgow who was walking his dog Lily gave me a little tour of the cemetery. He told me about the Scottish poet Robert Fergusson, who died in a madhouse in 1774 and then was buried in an unmarked grave until Robert Burns paid for a gravestone, while Lily rolled on her back in the grass. He told me about Adam Smith, the famous philosopher and economist, as Lily found a stick to chew on. He told me about Clarinda who was really called Nancy, a familiar name for someone named Agnes, who was Robert Burns’s muse while Lily rubbed her ears in the grass and then basked in a patch of sun. Eventually, we parted ways when Lily needed to be taken home for breakfast.

I continued on the Royal Mile and finally stopped here, at Deacon Brodie’s Cafe–the man who inspired Robert Louis Stevenson’s Jekyll and Hyde.   

It is now 10:10. I have finished my breakfast slowly enjoying the time to sit for a bit. I now have a mile walk back to my hotel. It should be about 11 by the time I get there. 

It was a rainy, windy day here in Denmark. I left my hotel after the housekeeping service tried twice to clean my room. In the end, I shouldn’t have worried about leaving then since they didn’t clean it at all. I set out layered and bundled, but I rolled up my jeans twice because there is nothing worse than having your jeans dragging in puddles. I took the hotel shuttle today, which took me right outside Central Station and just a short walk to the place where the Hamlet tour started. I did a little souvenir shopping since I had an hour to waste. At one store, a man pushed me, then said thank you (takk), and then stepped in front of me in line to pay for his umbrella. What is this jumping the queue all about in Denmark? Later, when I was waiting in the rain to board the tour bus, two women with umbrellas tried to jump this queue. Maybe the rain makes people anxious or impatient. Maybe they are worried they will melt. I didn’t have an umbrella and despite walking in the rain for an hour, I wasn’t all that wet. As I was standing in line, it did start coming down harder and by the time we were all boarded the rain was steady enough that you really couldn’t see anything outside the windows.

This Hamlet tour is pretty “rotten” in one way. Although it is called the Hamlet tour, only 35 minutes of the 5 hour tour is spent at Kronborg Castle. The first part is spent at Frederiksborg Castle and then to Fredensborg Castle. The tour that actually spends their time dedicated to Kronborg is actually called the Castle Tour of North Sealand. This tour had already left for the day, but had I read the fine print, I would have realized that the Hamlet Tour is not aptly named.

One good feature about the tour is that it is a guided one. They pass out headphones, which I had to exchange since my first pair did not work, and then you plug them in and choose the channel to the language you desire. I learned a lot about Denmark from this taped guide. It was pretty funny at times. When describing King Christian IV’s Rosenborg Castle, the guide stated, “He was quite a guy.” Everyone laughed.

The sea was dark and the sky was hazy gray, but if it had been clear we would have been able to see Sweden across the water. Occasionally, the tree branches hang so low that the double decker bus we are riding in runs into them with a heavy thud. We passed Karen Blixen’s childhood home, where she is buried in the garden. We also learned that the Danish put a flag in their garden or window if they are celebrating. My favorite story from the trip told of the people from, I think, Hillerod who in 1943, saved the Jewish people who lived in the town. Fishermen would bring them across the water to Sweden and the Germans turned a blind eye to the practice.  Then, the town took care of the Jewish people’s homes, even feeding their animals, so when the Jewish people returned, everything was intact.

There were a lot of other facts, but we eventually arrived at Frederiksborg Castle, which “some people say [is] better than the Louvre in Paris,” according to the guide. Since it was raining, we could only run into the castle and not run around all the gardens on the property. The bus driver loaned out some extra umbrellas, which I was relieved by since he parked the bus three blocks away from the Castle.  I could see that on a sunny day one could spend a full day at this castle. I don’t know why people would compare it to the Louvre though. That seems funny to me. The chapel is beautiful though. It is the best part of the castle. It is unusual since although it is a Luthern church it looks Catholic. It also has a 400 year old German organ, the oldest organ in the world that is still in use.

Our next stop was to the royal family’s summer residence Fredensborg Castle. We weren’t allowed to go in since the royal family is currently using the castle. It was beautiful from the outside though and we got to see the Royal Life Guards in action. We also stopped and ate at this little cafe near by where I had a delicious chicken sandwich that was topped with lettuce, cucumbers, hummus, and jalepenos. It was so big I ate the rest of it for dinner.

Finally, we were on our way to Kronborg. The rain let up and we really could see Sweden across Oresund sound. The castle was built in the 1420s and even today there is no indoor bathrooms or electricity. It is highly fortified and you have to walk over a few bridges to get over the moats that surround it. The cannons still point toward Sweden. When I got to the courtyard, I realized that they were just setting up the stage to perform the annual Hamlet to a few lucky theater goers. Previous actors to perform Hamlet in the courtyard include Laurence Olivier, Kenneth Branagh, and Jude Law. Maybe someday I will be able to return and watch Hamlet being performed. For this time around, though, I felt really happy to have stood at this castle even if Shakespeare never did (it is not known if he ever visited, but there is some speculation that he had).

On the drive back, I was happy to be in the comforts of a warm bus as the fatigue from being wind-tossed and rain-swept started setting in. I put on my head phones and watched the scenery go by for the 45 minute ride back to Copenhagen. As we got to the city, I felt a little sad knowing my European adventure had come to an end. I felt a little teary eyed thinking that I don’t know if I’ll ever return to these cities again. At the same time, I know I am very lucky to have seen all that I did on this trip. I decided to walk back to the hotel instead of taking the shuttle back despite being tired. Just a few more minutes in this city. It doesn’t even matter that it is cold and rainy. I walked by City Hall again, over Hans Christian Andersens Boulevard, walked along Tivoli, across from Central Station. I walked and thought about how nice it would feel to be walking the familiar streets of St. Paul, about golfing with my dad on the few Sundays left of the season and then working on crossword puzzles with my mom, about sleeping in my own so-very-comfy bed, seeing all my favorite people that I miss so much (you know who you are), and finally being able to see Bodhi walking on his own. I think I’m ready to say good bye to Europe and return to life as it is. It’s pretty nice there too.

I don’t mind being early. I’m sitting inside the train station after saying goodbye to Melanie. I’m bundled up like I’m waiting for winter, but I’m right outside the Caffe Ritazza so I can smell the fresh bakery floating towards me. I watch the people, some hurried like this woman rushing by me now, her body bouncing everywhere–running quickly in heels while trying not to appear to be running, the sound of her clicking shoes betrays her though; or the people scrawled out on the benches all around, one person sleeping while sitting up with his hood tightly closed around his face; others are casually strolling by like this well-dressed man organizing his bag with his coffee in one hand and his train ticket in his mouth while leisurely moving forward. 

I feel oddly rested and tired at the same time. Maybe this is what peacefulness feels like, what contentedness is–or maybe, it is just a state of withdrawal, a calm before the storm of work thunders in. It felt really good to be in Gothenburg for seven nights. The city was pulsing with activity at night, but so sleepy in the morning. The bustle of the afternoon that turns to pressing crowds at night have receded into the city walls like ghosts at morning light. I will miss my new friends as I travel to Copenhagen to finish my journey alone. 

At 6 am, I decide to wander to my track, number 9, with a short detour to get a large skim latte, the first of the trip since the previous time I tried to order it, the man said, “You want a skinny latte with regular milk” since regular milk is all he had. “Of course I do,” I told him and now that I’m drinking the skim latte, it does seem to be missing something. I slowly saunter out to track 9 and then the memory of the Stockholm/Oslo train descends. I think about the bruises that run up and down one leg that came from using it to direct that stinkin’ piece of luggage and I envision trying to cart the now even heavier bag stuffed full of conference materials from IFLA down the narrow aisles if I repeat my error and get in at the wrong coach and I am instantly nervous.

It would be so much easier if I remembered where I was supposed to be looking for the coach number. The ones on the train make no sense; 1-25 this way arrow, 26-50 that way arrow. I know I’ve done this correctly before and I know it is really silly not to know. I know the answer is simple, that it is just staring me in the face and I’m just not staring back. None of this helps me now, though, so I walk slowly up and down the platform like the train is the prey that I am secretly stalking–up, down, around. Finally, I just give up and ask the man standing next to me. 

He is really friendly and his kind eyes seems to light up when I ask him if he speaks English. He told me that the door we were standing at currently was coach #4 so he thought coach 2 would be to the right.  

I thanked him, but then stalled and after a pause, I asked, “But, HOW do you know?” 

He pointed at the blank signs that periodically flashed with the location of the train. I knew to look here to make sure the train was going to the correct location, but the coach number had escaped me.

“It says it there,” he said with a smile and at that moment the red neon letters scrolled across it–within the first phrase, the #4 did indeed appear with Stockholm underneath it. At this he promptly told me that it wasn’t going to Stockholm and just like that, the neon letters disappeared. 

“Is it going to Copenhagen?” I asked. 
“Yes, probably,” he said. “I’m going to Lund and that is on the way.”
“Oh, you’re going to Lund,” I repeated. I wanted to say that of course, I had heard of Lund from the Kurt Wallander books, but I thought that would be a silly thing to say so I refrained and left it with the intelligent repetition of his statement instead. 

He flashed a big smile and agreed, “Yes, I’m going to Lund.” At this point, I thanked him again and waved goodbye. I walked a few steps away and the light flashed for Copenhagen. When I looked at the next coach number, it was so obvious now where I should have been looking all along and so obvious that currently I am going the wrong way. I turn and the nice man with the kind smile is gesturing and pointing in the other direction. We both understand and then we both laughed.  I wave again and I wait outside the door for coach 2. 

A few minutes later, the door opens so I can board. I let a man pass by since he looks displeased with having to wait behind my giant bag. He thanks me and moves ahead. Happily, I arrive unscathed and unbruised to my seat–13. Don’t get me wrong, I still struggled a bit to get that stinkin’ piece of luggage up the three steps to board the train, especially with coffee in hand. I have learned never to pack so much again and I carry it now like penance. I still held up the show a little when I tried to maneuver the bag into the baggage compartment, but when I apologized to the man behind me, he said, “No problem. Take your time.” I arrive at my seat stress-free and sweat-free unlike the Stockholm/Oslo train. At exactly 6:27, we pull out of the station and I say goodbye to Gothenburg and to Sweden. The train ride to Copenhagen is only 3.5 hours long. 

Another thing that is different on this train ride from the Stockholm/Oslo ride is the fact that I am served breakfast on this one. There are ingredients for a little sandwich, an orange juice, and a strawberry drinkable yogurt called “Shot.” I eat the sandwich and drink the juice, but leave the shot alone for the moment. Outside, it is overcast giving the fields and stretches of water a haunting appearance, like I’m watching a memory go by instead of what is. There are little pockets where there are houses closely gathered together like they are huddling together to shelter each other from the pending storm. Mostly, it is the fields and open land that fills my window. The train conductor says something in Swedish over the PA when it occurs to me that I don’t know what Danish sounds like. I new adventure awaits in Copenhagen.

I try the “shot” and although it says in English that it “Balances your stomach” the strange taste that greets me does not balance well on my tongue. Despite this, I keep tasting it wondering if it will get better. A third of the way in I think it does and by the end I’m wondering if I can get this at home. It’s funny what the tongue does when tasting something brand new and unfamiliar. No wonder when Bodhi tries something new he often sticks his tongue out like he needs air to go with whatever new taste he is trying. 

The train is quiet and there are only a few people scattered here and there. I am again traveling solo, but I haven’t had time to get lonely yet since the western coast of Sweden keeps me company. Every time I’m on a train I am taken to some magical place. It is as if I’ve never seen anything as beautiful and maybe I really haven’t. Maybe it is not just an idyllic version of truth but actually the thing that matters most reflected back to me in the fields and the beautiful glimpses of the shore. How come it is so easy to think on a train? The mind isn’t so cluttered, worries disappear. I want to just float like this across the land forever. I want to watch the birds suddenly take flight, watch the cows browsing in the fields, and disappear. The next step is Falkenberg, which is one of the places I wanted to go to on a library tour. I’m excited to be at least passing through it. 

For some strange, unknown reason, the train is no longer going to Copenhagen. A few minutes outside Malmo, the voice over the PA said we have to change trains on track 12. Once we get off, many angry passengers gather in wait for the train staff. I watch as they air their frustrations, but there really isn’t much to be done. This is obvious even when the conversation is spoken in Swedish. The comfy first class seat I had reserved and paid for turned into a small galley seat from Malmo to Copenhagen. I didn’t mind the change of trains that much though. I had been feeling a bit nauseated on the train so I am relieved to have some fresh air and a few moments to be still. It is not easy to ride through the countryside backward. 

The train to Helsignor takes 47 minutes from Copenhagen. If I stay on this train, I can be there by 11:07. If nothing else, I have discovered this useful piece of information. This galley-way is full–with a few people forced to stand. I am crossing over a bridge, a sure sign that I am leaving Sweden and getting close to Denmark. I also discover that the Copenhagen airport is three stops before the Central Station. This is also good information. 

The walk to the Tivoli Hotel is about a 10 minutes walk from the Central train station. It is humid in Copenhagen and I’m a bit of a mess when I finally show up in their lobby. I stand in line and when it is my turn, 6 guys with British accents step in front of me. I am stunned and I uttered, “Really cool” out loud. One guy apologized and said, “We’re just checking out” as if that matters when cutting in line. I wait a few more minutes and finally get checked in. As I enter my room on the fifth floor, I drop everything and hop into the shower and then happily collapse onto the bed.  I’ll explore Copenhagen soon; I’m just going to lie here for a moment…

The next award was given to INIST, L’Institut de l’Information Scientifique et Technique for it’s significant contribution to IFLA as the worldwide host for the IFLA website from 2002 to 2009. 

The next award was given to Elizabet Ramos de Carvalho for her significant contribution to IFLA as the regional manager and in promoting the Latin American and Caribbean region. She says she shares the metal with her friends and colleagues from Latin America and the Caribbean.

IFLA also thanked the Swedish library association for hosting IFLA 2010 and in doing it so well with only one year’s notice.

Patrice Landry, chair of Professional Committee, gave the Newsletter of the Year award to Library Services for Multicultural Populations. He also awarded the best IFLA poster session for 2010 to African Water Information and Documentation System (African WIS) by Kabou Kamboukadio from Burkina Faso. 

Then, a video from www.meetpuertorico.com on Puerto Rico was shown to illustrate what future conference attendees have in store for them. The Puerto Rico Natioinal Committee chair then formally invited people to attend the 77th IFLA Congress from August 13-18, 2011. “We share your dreams and your expectations…to join efforts to better serve all.” Treats were then passed out so we could get a taste for Puerto Rico.

This was followed by Ingrid Parent, IFLA President-elect, speaking in Swedish and then thanking the Swedish National Committee in English for their amazing work hosting the IFLA Conference this year. Additional thanks go out to the sponsors, the exhibitors, the communication team, the interpreters, the staff, and many many others including the delegates. The ceremony then showed a photo slideshow of the conference and a video about “the hero” with closing words from Agneta Olsson, the chair of the Swedish National Committee. 

We spent the week in Gothenburg immersed in information, cultural activities, and Swedish hospitality. To the city of Gothenburg, to IFLA, to all those who volunteered, thank you for an amazing, unforgettable week! You have welcomed us, you have impressed us, you have inspired us.