Destination: Stockholm

The sojourn to Sweden's Capitol begins.

Anne had arranged for a vehicle to come into our possession. Whether these means be legitimate, or a be questionable, I dare not inquire.

Regardless of those means, dubious or otherwise, we begin our morning by feverishly packing up and preparing for the journey ahead.

Linköping lies about 200km south to the island-city of Stockholm. This distance is much akin to the one separating Santa Cruz and San Francisco (thankfully excluding Highway 17 in favor of much more leisurely roadways); leaving only a couple hours of actual travel time.

This is new and exciting!

That aside, we set our departure time to hit the highway for about 14:00 (2pm, if you’re keeping track).  
But first things first:

• A trip to the dump to sacrifice Anne's old TV
• Gathering materials in order to build shuriken targets from the hardware store

Awww.. no it isn't..

• And finally, heading to the bus station to pick up Steve Olsen (one of the instructors from the taikai). 

I am charged with the illustrious task of dragging the hulking television down to the car.
Despite four flights of stairs, the fellow residents of the apartment building survive unharmed, and the T.V. remains in one piece.
So far, so good.
A short drive later and we arrive at the dump. Which doesn't look as much like a dump so much as a glorified recycling center. A few employees in matching hooded waterproof uniforms stand around idlely; not even batting an eyelash at me as I struggle to haul the television out of the trunk. I suppose that kind of work is above their pay grade.
Once the drop has been made, we make our way off to the largest hardware store Anne can think of.
The name of it was K-RAUTA; some strange Finnish company. It was like an Orchard Supply store and a Home Depot had a child, and the child would never clean its room, no matter how often their parents asked them.

This would be an appropriate time to mention my experience I've been having with communicating through the "language barrier" out here in Sweden.
Everyone speaks English. And I mean EVERYONE. With varying degrees of skill and accents ranging from hard-to-understand, all the way to the sound of a native speaking Californian.
It became clear to me in the hardware store, that I was all too smugly taking advantage of this situation; not fully realizing that it had more to do with being in the city most of my time, rather than a matter-of-fact that every Swedish citizen spoke perfect English.
I approached older man working near some plumbing supplies, and without a second thought, ventured to ask him if he would educate me on where to find some metal chain.
His initial puzzled look evaded me at first, shooting by like a misfired arrow.
I made a gesture with my hands, linking my thumb and forefingers together.
"Chain. Metal chain."
He looked at me, and gingerly turned and pointed towards the back of the building. And with an upward glance of his eyes, seemingly to be searching for the rights words,
"ehhhhh. ummmm.. Wall."
At this point I was beyond certain that I was at the disadvantage here, and I felt quite ignorant for assuming he would communicate with me so easily without even asking him first.
Luckily, by some divine grace, Anne began an easy approach down an aisle at my 9 o'clock. I hurriedly waved her over. And just as the pressure of his thoughts pressing against the language barrier was building to the point where the man was nearly ready to explode, he turned to her, and with great relief, he let loose:
- a wave of Swedish bursting from him and crashing upon her like water bursting through a dam.
Needless to say, I understand none of it. And the short conversation back and forth sounded no more like Swedish to me than any other ancient Nordic dialect. However, as I suspected would occur, she had somehow gathered the information we needed and we thanked the man, and headed toward the wall of chains.

The place was large, and a bit of a mess. For about thirty minutes of work, all we managed to find was about six feet of chain, and some zip ties. I've done better;
But also, much, much worse.





  Completing this task, at least in partial, lead us to our next objective: Acquiring Steve Olsen from the local bus station.

Lucky for us, we were still rolling in the car. So we were able to pick him up in style; chauffeuring him back to Anne's apartment, where she would be letting him stay for the remainder of his trip in Linköping while we were away up North.
We stopped back at the apartment and dropped off his bags. After that was said and done we strolled out for a nice lunch and coffee.

The company was good, and the conversation well received.

Steve mentioned a desire to find a loaf of the finest Swedish bread, and mailing it to his mother from town. This began our small quest to locate the best Bakery in the area.
Anne already knew a few places, and after only visiting two of them, we sauntered into a shop more than suitable. The wood floors were old and stained, and the walls spoke of the many years they had been penetrated by the delightful odors of bread and pastries.
This was definitely the place.

Steve and Anne regarded a bread-weathered grey-haired woman who emerged from the work in the back rooms. A brief conversation lead to a quick decision. Steve would be back on the morrow to collect his prize and send it on its way to the United States.










 By this time, running a bit late, we scampered off back to the apartment and bid Steve a wholesome goodbye.

All things prepared and the car packed up; we hopped on the E4 highway, heading northward.
First stop: Stockholm.

The Taikai finishes, the party begins..

TAIKAI PHOTOS (they're awesome, please check them out!)

^---------PICS! (it happened)

Ahhhhhhhhhh

Finally some time to breath.
The Sweden Bujinkan 2012 Taikai is now wrapped up, successful, and completely finished.
Which also coincidentally marks the end of my first week in the glorious country of Sweden.

It's been great. Albeit stressful.
It's been booked solid with meetings and interactions with people I have never met in a city I've never been in before. Quite the experience. -Thankful for it, but glad it's over.

The days have been kind to me; the weather gentle, and not too cold actually. So far the clothing I have packed is coming in at least adequate and I'm not turning into a popsicle when I step outside.
I can't say if I was expecting it to be better or worse. The only time I've been exposed to such low temperatures is when I spent a few weeks in Virginia during Christmas quite a few years back. However back then we had a car, and were pretty much inside all the time.

Swedes don't use cars.
And they throw a middle finger to the elements.

I've actually been seeing people walking down the street in tank tops and sweaters, while I am bundled up in three layers of wool and leather.
They grow them tough up in these parts. Even the children are humming along the sidewalks with nary a stutter in their stride, hardly a windbreaker to keep them warm.

Otherwise these days have been placed aside mostly for decompression.
Anne managed to become rather ill with all of the stress leading up to the Seminar, and so the free time been at a slow, even pace.

The instructors are all still in town, so we had dinner with them.
It's quite an amazing (albeit rather intimidating) experience sitting around the table with four of Bujinkan's top brass.
Even my girlfriend intimidates me when she gets going on training. She's been at it almost four times as long as I have, and has more than a foothold with where these guys are coming from. I've hardly ever felt so small and had so little to say. It's a nice and humbling situation to be in.
However, I don't need much to say, given the spectacle laid out before me; the interaction between them all is an event in and of itself.
Their stories, shared experiences, and philosophies on training swirl around together in a frenzied budo maelstrom. It is easy to get lost among them and just listen intently.
The time in which they speak of span back months, years, and decades. I hear of times when Westerners were just being allowed to learn from Hatsumi. Of times when my most revered figures in the Bujinkan were just discovering the same things I am now. I hear of the rivalries, the feuds, and the peculiar interactions they've had throughout the years.

Needless to say, a modest practitioner such as myself couldn't be more smitten.

Dinner is over; drinks are empty: time to move on.

The night was in full bloom now. A subsonic boom pierced through the humid air and writhing bodies of the club and desperately escaped into the bustling streets of downtown. The general consensus of the group hinted against joining the thundering bass, favoring tea and coffee; continuing the evenings discussions.
Agreeing on this as a decent compromise, we pulled up some chairs at "Steve's Cafe" and picked up where we left off.

The rest of the night goes as could be expected, ending with us all saying our goodbyes in front of a Best Western against a backdrop of distant drunken howls of young Swedes and electronic music.

"Hello Europe, nice to meet you..."

Well, this is quite the turn of events.
I certainly wasn't expecting to end up smack dab in the middle of Scandanavia. Not now, not ever.
Not being for a lack of interest to see the world. But more so of a lack of time or direction.
I'd always thought myself to visiting one of the big-time hot spots; London, Rome, Paris, Berlin...

... Linköping? .. Sweden?

It wasn't long ago that I wouldn't have been able to point to Sweden on a map. Let alone tell you what the country has contributed as its namesake. Even now I have compiled a rather pathetic list:

• Ikea.
• Tempur Pedic.
• Vikings.
• That one movie with the girl with the tattoo.
• Blonde babes (sans beach).
• Volvo.
• Mora knives.
• The Knife (the band).
• Socialism.
• Did I say babes? .. oh yeah.. I did..

As one can clearly note, work on the list is needing to be done.

Now, despite my terrible ignorance. I've been blessed.
Truly blessed.
For it is on this day that I can sit quite snug within this cafe and broadcast my naive ramblings from the Frosty North.

How did I end up here?
I'd like to say it was destiny. I'd like to say it was sheer willpower, or perhaps determination.
I'd like to say a hundred other melodramatic and fanciful stories wrought with adventure and intrigue...
-however- the truth is much simpler than that.

I am here on the good graces of my lovely girlfriend, Anne, my crazy boss, Mark, and my lovable yet dysfunctional parents.
It is with all of their powers combined that I am able to follow my dreams, and see the world.
Why am I so lucky to have this opportunity?
One could see it as being in the right place at the right time.
Another might look at it as my alarmingly mellow attitude getting me by and opening doors.
My ex-girlfriend would say it's because I'm a relentless sociopath bent on bleeding every last person I encounter dry of their resources and generosity.
I tend to disagree with her, but sometimes I feel like I am.

I'm really not certain exactly as to why I'm here instead of other, more hard-working and honorable folk. I'm not sure I deserve this luxury or this gift.

But the best I can do is the best we all can do:
And that is to live, and to learn. To become a better, more traveled, and wise person.

This marks my second day in Linköping. Anne has been busy with her studies (work) both of those days. From 8am 'til 8pm (0800 - 2000 for those of you counting). These circumstances have offered me quite a strange introduction into this small big town.
Amongst the urban confusion and backwards architecture, I have encountered countless beautiful views at every turn, and a pleasant clambering of my shoes among the old stones that make up the streets.
This, all observed through an upside down filtered haze born from jet-lag and insomnia.

I can hardly imagine the Nordic splendor that awaits me in the coming weeks.