STOCKHOLM

Pushed under the door this morning was a card wishing us Happy Anniversary from the Captain and crew. A nice little touch in addition to the announcement in the Daily Programme, which had already caught the eye of several other passengers last evening. We reckon forty four years is worth a bit of a celebration. We’re still not sure how they found out because although we have mentioned the anniversary to several people, I didn’t ask for any recognition. We suspect it is our distant relatives, the von Abo family who we bumped into by chance the other day. Did I tell anyone about that? Seems not from a quick search, so I’ll just mention it now.

The second or third day out we wandered into Marco’s Bistro for a light lunch. The place was crowded but two gents were sitting at a table for six, so we asked if we could join them. They said they’d be happy for that to happen. One of them had a very strong accent so I asked him if he was from the Netherlands, “Close, but no prize,” he said with a smile and Rab got that accent – he was South African. We had a good laugh about that and in introducing ourselves we found that the other man was Crawford von Abo. Family members reading this – and anyone else who has accepted my invitation to have a look at the work my brother Steve has done on our family tree (www.southafricanflemmer) would know that is one of our ancestral names. Steve has always said that the Flemmer family (my Mom’s maiden name) are lousy correspondents, but that the von Abo family are even worse, so I leapt at the chance to tell Crawford that he was in trouble unless he could give me good contact information to pass on to Steve. Crawford said he had a very thick file of papers which he has passed on to his son-in-law, so I’ll let Steve have that information. But what a coincidence! Crawford is adamant that the von Abos came from Estonia and was planning to hire a car and drive to the little village about 150 km from Tallinn until the plan was kyboshed by wife Bibi who said it was madness. They also said that they had found the von Abo crest on a building in Tallinn after we had been there but I haven’t seen that yet – apparently it has three doves and not the three balls or the skull and crossed bones which I had thought were a feature until now.

Back to today after that diversion. The mild storm of the night had passed by the time we woke and looking out our windows we could see that it was gong to be a fine day – although we were also aware of the predicted 8C temperature. As the sun came up we could see that we seemed to be in the channel entering Stockholm and by about 7.30 we thought we might have made up the lost time from the storm and be docking on time. What we had forgotten was how many islands there are when entering Stockholm and how far they stretch, because we finally came alongside at 10.30 as predicted. It was a sunny morning and after a brief break of our fast (not eating too much in anticipation of the feast to be provided by Lars and Gerd) we went up on deck to get a closer look at the view. We had light jackets on but they weren’t enough to keep us warm in the very cold wind, multiplied by the speed of our passage, so soon shot down below to get warmer gear. I left Rab down there as she didn’t want to get her hair blown off her head and just sat and watched the passing display, taking some pictures, but not too many. From previous experience, these kind of shots never fully capture the beauty of the scene. For that I need something more than my Pentax Optio. Not that I am complaining about my little camera. It is amazingly versatile and I have over the years managed to capture some sights that I am quite proud of. Carrying this small digital camera certainly beats humping around that old Pentax Spotmatic of mine with all the associated lenses. No doubt the combinations I had could produce better pictures – if I could catch them. Like that old man yesterday – change lenses to get the close-up and the moment would have been gone.

I eventually went back inside feeling quite invigorated by the crisp morning air, to meet up with Rab, Carol and Reg in the lounge to do the morning quiz. The questions are heavily British oriented, but we didn’t do too badly being three off the winner. The ship finally came to a halt and as we expected to be off quite quickly, ahead of the touring groups we went down to pick up our heavy coats. We had an ideal view of the quayside from our windows which are almost directly above the gangway when we are in port. It was amusing to watch the very particular Swedes guiding the ship in from about five feet out. Inch by inch we crept in, but weren’t in the precise spot required. Gestures were made, arms swung and we inched a foot or two to the right. “Not correct”, were the signals, come back a bit this way. And so on for about ten minutes.

It seemed that the Swedes were trying to guide the ship to a gap in some rails on the quay which the gangway might not clear. It also seemed that someone on the ship finally got a bit fed up with all this toing and froing because next thing the offending railing was removed and we were finally tied up. I pulled Lars’ leg about this fine example of the Swedish way of dong things – they simply must be right. No sloppiness allowed. Mind you having said that we were very impressed by the fact that there were three lines painted along the quay. The blue one led to the walkway to the Old City or Gamla Stan about 2.6 km away; the yellow one led to the ferry; the green one led to the tram. How obvious an idea was that – except that none of the people I spoke to when we got back on board had noticed these guidelines.

Gerd and Lars were waiting for us at the entrance to the docks and it was tremendous seeing them again. An amazing amount of talking was crammed into the next three hours – all that the late arrival allowed us. As Rab said, it beats chatting on Skype hands down. We went back to their charming house in Saltjosbaden where we have spent so many happy times and had our usual formal exchange of gifts – small items that will remind us both of this, our latest meeting. Of course they had prepared a splendid meal with gravadlax, shrimp mousse and chicken dishes accompanied by good Swedish and French wines and some of Lars’ very good sourdough bread. But as Lars said, splendid as the meal was, we would probably have enjoyed it as much if we just had the bread and cheese he and I shared in the Seychelles all those years ago when we met. It was the company that was important.

All too soon it was time to think about heading back to the ship especially as it was now pouring with rain in what we swear is traditional Swedish weather. It suckers you in with a beautiful sunny morning, good enough for a picnic or some other outdoor activity and when you get to your destination and set out the tables and chairs, down she comes. Lars said we should leave a little earlier in case of accidents on the road: Gerd said that wasn’t necessary. This little exchange brought to mind the book I am reading right now about how to increase your chances of survival in all manner of predicaments. The relevant chapter is one about luck, so I put to them the rhetorical question from the book: If you were in a bank and a robber entered, fired one shot in the course of the robbery and were hit by this shot in the arm, would you consider yourself lucky or unlucky? Needless to say Gerd thought it was lucky that she wasn’t badly injured: Lars though it unlucky that he had been shot, a view which Rab shared. I of course, ever the optimist, agreed with Gerd.

And on that note, with not an accident in sight and a fast clearing rain shower, we parted again. We’re never really sad in these partings because we have so often thought that we might not meet again, but have done so. Who knows when the next time will be?

In the hour which passed from leaving Lars and Gerd home until we were sailing out of the port, the rain had blown away – possibly to Helsinki – and the sun shone brilliantly again. We took up a good spot in the Captain’s Club lounge and enjoyed the view. We were joined by Robert and Pat, one of the couples on our table with whom we get on very well, and sat thee chatting over a cup of tea until we were driven from the comfort of our spot by a cocktail making demonstration, accompanied by music from Cocktail at full blast. That is another small niggle we have with the ship – the inappropriate screeching music – and he volume – which is played at times. We fee certain that, given the average age aboard (we are still probably on the young side of the median) there are very few people who would choose a noisy Madonna number over a soothing instrumental playing in the background. Of course you can always move away from the source of annoyance to a quieter part of the ship.

We have taken to spending the hour before dinner in a strategically placed seat in the Captain’s Club, sipping on a cocktail or two, which are the fashion up there in the evening. This room is the main thoroughfare for people who have eaten in the first sitting in the restaurant to migrate through to the Marco Polo Lounge for the evening show. Being creatures of habit, there are many regular who show up at roughly the same time each evening and it is a wonderful place to review the dress and physical characteristics of our fellow passengers. As is the case when we travel through the US, any concerns about the possibility of our being considered as having a high body mass index are swept away as some truly large people trundle by. One of the ladies last night might have been mistaken for an Alp had she tripped and fallen on her face. White slacks on an expanse that large are not a slimming look we feel.

There was a pleasant surprise for us at dinner when our waiter Kway brought us a chocolate cake with one candle, piped with the words Happy Anniversary – another nice little gesture. We concluded what had been an excellent day with a visit to the Lounge to see what was said to be the last performance of nn artist, whose name eludes me right now. We weren’t aware of his previous performances, nor did we know what he did – was he a comedian, a conjuror, an acrobat? Who knew. He turned out to be a somewhat weather-beaten old guitarist who certainly could play the variety of stringed instruments but whose patter was appalling. Insulting the audience and suggesting they get along to the bar and have a bevy or two to liven up before they come back doesn’t in our experience, endear yourself to the spectators.