After a few more hours sleep and a long shower, our ferry deposited us on the shores of Finalnd.

Although I swear to you it felt as if we had never left land. The Stockholm archipelago, consisting of some 24,000 islands, kept close company to us throughout the first part of the journey, then after a small crossing of completely empty sea, it was back through an archipelago on the Finnish side.

All of this meant that our journey was incredibly smooth,  In fact the Baltic Ocean has been incredibly flat wherever we have been near it’s shores.  This ocean is so tucked away that it does not have a tide.  It’s incredible ice blue waters seem to invite you in at every chance, though those that take the chance at this time of year must ensure that there is a sauna nearby to survive without getting hypothermia.

We headed into Turku, the old Finnish capital during the time when the Swedes owned most of the lands we have travelled through.

We’re hoping to get a hostel here and join what looks like a parade of boiler suited students.  This is actually their “drinking dress” and it allows them to do silly stuff such as rolling in the grass and getting covered in beer without destroying any of their normal clothes.  I think this throws the Finnish hurtling into first place for practical yet crazy Scandinavians.

Unfortunately all of the hostels are booked, the campsites are shut at this hour and we have little choice but to roll on towards the heady lights of Helsinki.

It is late at night by the time we arrive at our hostel in Espoo, a late night made later by the fact that we have jumped another time zone, now being two hours ahead of London – oh and it is only just getting dark at half past 11.  Which is really screwing with our body clocks.

THe next morning brings a day of just chilling out, enjoying the brilliantly beautiful beaches of Espoo and the Baltic Coastline, the pine trees add an exotic, almost meditterainean feel the just seems out of place in a country where there are only two months that are called “summer”.  The sandy beaches also look out of place, it is only the giant rocks, seen strewn about the landscape and forming cliff edges and formations almost everywhere (our hostel has a roundabout around one such rock in the car park, it’s just too big to be moved), yes – it is only these that remind you that you are in a country more used to snow than sun.

After a day of doing, well not much really, we head into the city of Helsinki.  We took the van.  Not a good idea.  Sat Nav does not cope with small streets.  We do not cope with cobbles.  Van does not cope with tight corners.  We all fall out, but make amends once we find a cool car park.  Apart from the Sat Nav, that has got a lot of apologising to do.

The first thing that surprises us about Helsinki is the incredible, imposing and – in this sunlight – bloody reflective, Cathedral.

It sits up on a plinth, it’s own small plateau in the rising above the streets of Helsinki and commands every tourist to climb the seemingly endless amount of steps up to it.

The interior is lavishly decorated with gold dripping down from every chandelier and up from every candlestick.  It is in stark contrast to the red building sitting on the other side of the river.  The Orthodox Cathedral looks very formal, though its own imposing power is most definitately there, it does not command such a large square or plinth for itself.

We are meeting up with another person from Couchsurfing.org.  This website is a must for travellers, we have found so many different people already and always had a good time.

Sara meets us outside of the white Cathedral and takes us across on yet another boat to the small island of Suomenlinna, literaly translated to Finnish Fortress.

There are two sides to this place.  One is the newer looking Russian side, with small garrisons, shops and other administrative wooden huts dotted around.  Across a small wooden bridge is found the much grander and larger castle.  Our view of this is distracted though by the hot weather and the view of the Baltic, so blue, lapping against a small sandy beach and our destination is set.

The afternoon passes us almost without saying a word, then Luke and I return the van to the youth hostel (sat nav is still in the dog house) and travel back into Helsinki by bus, for tonight is Eurovision night and Luke, Sara and I have a date with a large tv screen and a large, cold beer.

After returning the lovely Saab to Sjkovde, picking up the van which is now working (the problem was air in the fuel system).  Oh and a point here, if anyone is ever looking for the diagnostics connection socket for the LDV convoy, it is under the ashtray, you know, the obvious place of course!

So yer after all of that – we headed North a bit more.

We have been using the Couchsurfing.org website for a few meet ups in towns but now it was time for the first official Couch Surf!

Well, we put our requests in and awaited the response.  Larissa was the first person to get back to us.  She told us that we were to bring 200 krona with us and meet in a car park in the town of Borlange….

We were met by Larissa and some people from her wildlife school in the car park and were told to follow them, which is harder than you think when we are sliding around on the gravel roads, literally drifting around some of the sharper corners.

We arrive, with all our bones in tact but nerves a little frayed, in the a little place that calls itself the “Smoking Barrels Camp”  A wild west style hangout for those that like guns basically.

For today, we have become Shotgun Si and Cool Hands Luke, about to enter fearsome battle with a series of metal targets and a timer, armed only with a revolver, a shotgun and a winchester rifle… This was going to be fun!

Each of us took turns to try and hit the targets in the shortest possible time, whih would have been ok had I ever managed to hit the bloody targets!

Still, after much practice and a fair bit of banter I finally cleared each round.

After a sit out around the campfire it was time to head home, which was two hours away!

Larissa, Luke and I spent most of  the rest of that evening eating toast and attempting to explain Lee Evans’ jokes on youtube, cultural difference can sometimes render even the funniest of jokes completely limp!

So – something we never expected to be doing in Sweden – shooting Wild West style, crazy!

Not having our campervan for the weekend did cause a few issues.

Concern number 1 is of course a place to sleep.  We have become to used to just rocking up and parking almost anywhere (in Sweden you may park overnight for free, anywhere with the P sign) and are not ready for the Swedish hostel system where you have to book, using an automated phone line – in Swedish, of which I speak only three words.
Those three words are quite important to the Swedish though, number 1 is Fika… a word meaning literally “food/coffee/snack / any excuse for a break!  You see signs for Fika on almost every small shop in Sweden, and it is something that should be introduced in the UK for sure!

Second is Hej Hej, meaning – Hello, an essential greeting! And Thirdly there is Largomm (spelling might be wrong here).  Largomm literally sums up Sweden, for it means “just enough to fill you up, but not more”  which is quite a nice thought, no oversized portions but nothing rip off.  I like it and I like the way it sums up the Swedish culture and identity.

So we are on our way to Stockholm, with no hostels open and also no hotels open, the eery light of the eve has caught us out and it is nearly two am, the sun is almost rising again through our windscreen.  We eventually find a hotel Ibis in the nearby (by Swedish standards) town of Nykopping.

Six hours later we are up and out, on the final run to Stockholm in our lovely Saab 95 turbo, for which I am sure the lovely Emily must be thanked.

Our bed for tonight is the first thing we sort out, heading for a rather bizarre youth hostel located on an old warship, the AF Chapman.  The old sailing ship has done many miles and is now a prominent attraction on an island opposite the old town of Stockholm. Parking for the car is not too bad either at 30krona (about £2.50)

So – our bed for tonight is sorted, although the swipe card used for entry onto the ship is slightly dodgy, leaving us hoping that we will be able to get back on!!

Stockholm, as with Copenhagen, is a city built on a load of islands.  Luke and I fear for the lives of our shoes after our Copenhagen expedition led to getting stuck on many of the smaller islands and having to walk miles to get back off again! So we decided to keep our walking tour to a more confined area.

We head off into the old town, Gamla Stan.  It is a maze of tight, twisting streets with shops hiding around every corner and restaurants attracting the flocking tourists with charm rather than brashness.  The Royal Palace, consisting of 680 rooms and thus making it the largest in the world, occupies one corner of this small island and the wide streets surrounding it are in severe contrast with the aforementioned maze just a few hundred metres away.

There is mostly certainly a tourist feel to this part of Stockholm, as is to be expected. We hear many English and American accents in the hordes of people clamouring for that certain photo of this old place.  Luke and I head off into the side streets to see what else we can find, which is not too much really, but the calm and coolness of these streets is not to be missed.

By this time my mobile has died (my phone has a habit of doing this at inconvenient times) so we head off to find a place to get a charger (with European socket) and head back to the hostel for a few hours of much needed kip!
We had arranged to meet some people from the brilliant Couchsurfing.org website in the evening, unfortunately due to mobile numbers, emails and all sorts of other miscommunications we are unable to get hold of our drinking buddies for this evening and so, with ther remaining power left in the laptop I connect to the Internet and post an “urgent drinks request” on the Stockholm page, then the stomach growls and it is time for some food!

The old town has transformed in just a few hours from streets packed full of travellers into a much quieter, cosier and more relaxed place.  The bars are full of people kicking back and the restaurants are crammed with smart looking people enjoying some good looking food.

Being on a budget of course meant that we were looking for the most “cost-effective” place to eat, rather than the one that looked like you needed a mortgage to enter.

We were not disappointed though, nor were we snubbed at – for we only really had a few “travelling clothes” with us, which can cause an issue in some snobbier places.  Our restaurant looks reasonably priced and once inside the host whisks us off to a table, then onto another table (he mis-judged something or something, but was very polite about it all).
Our waitress was yet another incredibly good looking Swede, although not blonde – which is better in my books.
With our meals ordered Luke and I settled into our beers (and wine).  Then the meals arrived.

Now I have mentioned before about Largomm, and this is exactly what I got, a healthy, but not too large portion of meatballs in lingonberry sauce with some mashed potato, a truly brilliant meal.

Just as Luke and I were ready for an early night a text came through from our “urgent drinks request” on couch surfing and just a few hours later we were knocking back a few beers on a fairly orderly bar crawl around the south Stockholm island of Sodermalm.

At around 4am, and with the sun now firmly asserting itself in the sky we headed back for a night on the AF Chapman, another Scandinavian Capital has been partied in, and yes, I would recommend anyone to come here.  The city is clean, laid back when not in the packed tourist areas and that friendly feel to it that is missing in so many cities. 

Stockholm has soul.

It’s Friday, we are all fully recovered after a relaxing stopover at Del’s place and from this campsite, situated right on the edge of a lake.

We are ready to tackle the onslought that will be Stockholm, a complete weekend of meeting people (via couch surfing), walking around, having a look at what is going on and so on.

For once we are actually up reasonably early (about 9 am – ok well it is early for us!) The bright red van is packed, ready to go, we’ve got 50 litres of fresh water and nothing stopping us from the 300kilometre journey that will take us to the vibrant capital of this strange country.

I say strange country and actually I do mean it.

Sweden is probably one of the few countries where they almost “expect” you to visit at only certain times.  Every person we have met says that we should come back in the summer, apparently the biggest party is the midsummer celebrations, where the partying continues into the next morning, noon and even night.

Yet, travelling at this time of year we have seen not many campervans about really and the few youth hostels we have looked into are only open if you have booked them, not the “rock up and book in” type of hostels that exist almost everywhere else I have been.

These issues were about to play havoc with us.

So stockholm yer – er no, well maybe not right away.

We usually have to muck around a bit to get the van started, using a bit of full throttle and patience, but she will eventually start.  But not this time.  There was nothing.  The battery was turning the engine over but the engine just didn’t want to kick in.
Phone call number 1… breakdown company to arrange a truck and techie to come out to us.

Luckily for us the campsite guy seems to know what he is doing with engines, the old (antique) volvo digger in the background takes about 30minutes to start he tells us as, dressed already in workman’s overalls, he heads straight under the bonnet of our stricken van.

After some prodding, poking and more attempts to start the van we have completely exhausted our battery, but our man in blue overalls thinks that it is most probably air in the fuel system – I had changed the fuel filter just a day ago and, although she started first time then, it seemed to be the causing a problem now.

Phone call number 2… What is an LDV Convoy?
Of course once I had rung my breakdown company and told them I was broken down abroad they had transferred my “file” to their european call centre, who had no idea what an LDV Convoy is, strangely enough not many people outside of the UK have – it had already caused a stir amongst the repair garage in Germany, from where we had bought the fuel filter.

So after trying their systems one final time we (the lovely sounding Emily and I) decided it would be easiest to call it a Ford Transit, as that is the engine we have.

The campsite guy returns now with a battery charger and promptly plugs in the van before heading off to help an older couple with their awning – is there no end to this man’s talents?

Phone Call number 3… Ok Mr Gardner, we have a truck on it’s way to you, but where are you?

Yes – I have no idea how that can work either, but between a few postal codes, Nei’s (no) and Ja’s (Yes), from the campsite guy-turned-navigation-system and the lovely Emily looking on Google maps we manage to find our precise location, down to the last tree.

Around half an hour later the truck arrives, almost as red as our van – but not quite, our campsite guy has now turned into translator and is explaining as well as helping the techie from the recovery firm.

Both conclude that it is probably air in the pipes and that – with a bit of persuasion, a jumpstart from the truck and a heap of luck that the van should eventually turn over.

An hour of fiddling, a half hour of looking and fifteen minutes of head scratching later and we are still not moving, nor starting and with the weather having turned from a fairly fine morning into and afternoon of rain that would embarass even the most powerful of showers it was decided that the van will have to go to the workshop.

Now this would be fine if we were in England, most workshops are open until 5pm on a Friday, and probably open saturday morning at least, alas we are not in England, we are in Sweden – meaning that the workshop has already shut and that it will not be open until Monday morning… Crap.

The journey to the workshop takes us into the town of Skovde… pronounced “Hurvdur” apparently.

Chatting to our recovery driver on the way it turns our that he is a busy man.  His normal job is in a factory that makes shop furniture, most notably for the UK retail chain “Next”. He is also a fireman whenever his pager goes off and the recovery driver every third weekend and he has an interest in classic American cars, owning a Pontiac himself, although my memory fails me as to which.

Phone Call number 4… Mr Gardner, we were just wondering how things were going with your car…

Well yes, that was that, we had no van until Monday, we had gathered a few belongings, plus our sleeping bags and headed out of the workshop (which was being locked up) and into the Preem fuel station around the corner where we took up temporary residence.

We find a seat in the Preem shop and grab a quick coffee, the friendly attendant informs us that some of the small packets of sweets on the font of the des are “free samples”, but she had that look in her eye that just seemed to say it all, pity.  Still Ihave never been one to pass up a free bag of sweet goodness and dig into a meatball baguette, that unfortunately wasn’t free.

Phone call number 5… Mr Gardner, we have checked your policy and you have a hire car available, will you be needing it?

Well hell yer – the same thing applies to free cars as it does to sweets, offer it to me and I will take it.  After double checking the location of the Preem garage the lovely Emily tells us that our car will be here shortly, I jokingly ask for a Ferrari, knowing full well that the Toyota Yaris that I am entitled to will not be the most thrilling ride in the world.

Phone Call number 6… Mr Gardner, Emily here, your Saab will be here shortly…

My What?!  How on earth did… that’s not a Toyo… don’t ask questions, just accept. OK I say and await our luxury car (and yes, in comparrison to an LDV convoy anything is luxury, but this was like proper nice.

A few minutes later the guys and gal from Avis turn up with a gleaming Saab 95 Turbo, running on Ethanol… certainly have to remember that when we fill up.

Somehow Luke and I have turned into a family of four with a heap of luggage, and I, dear readers, am now mysteriously Dr Gardner.

I told you “Emily” was lovely…

So off we shoot towards the vibrant capital of this strange country – well we will do once I stop reaching down the wrong side for the gear stick, Luke is worried that at some point I will just open the door and eject myself whilst reaching for 4th gear.

That’s all folks, till the morning!

We arrived in Ringsted on the 1st of May.

Europe takes it’s May day holidays seriously and everything was pretty much shut.

Ringsted itself is a bit of an industrial town, though there are the usual tourist attractions that most towns fling up the most entertaining thing Luke and I found was a Jolly Roger flag flying high over the tow from an abandoned old warehouse.

Our stellplatz is nice enough, tucked away at the back of a clean industrial estate.  Our host this time has his own campervan, house and campervan repair shop all in a reasonably large plot.

We plug-in to allow us to use the heater, the nights are definitely getting colder now.

Our host soon arrives on his bike (most Danish people seem to be more adept at riding their bikes than driving a car) and instantly tours into a tourist information office, offering us leaflets for here, there and everywhere.  Unfortunately with it being May day our drive out to an open-air museum is just a drive-out.

Our sink is playing silly buggers again so our host turns to role number 2 and quickly becomes repair man.  About ten minutes, some pressure testing and 10krona later we have a sealed and working sink, brilliant!

Parked next to us is a strange campervan that looks as if it is being used as a mobile piercing studio, I do believe that a man is not equipped for some of the piercings that the paper signs advertise.

A walk around Ringsted provides today’s entertainment and photos can be seen below.

Guest post…

Hey all, you may remember I offered a guest post a while ago seeing as I am off on holiday this week and connections can not be guaranteed.

This post is from Kevin Littleton, you can find a link to his blog at the bottom of this post. Right, that’s enough from me….. enjoy!

Splashy Splashy

The rains have left me sometime last night while I slept after visiting for a couple days. I awoke this morning to find sunshine pouring through all my windows. I miss the gloom that I danced in yesterday and the puddles that splashed all around that seemed to dance with me. All the puddles are slowly dying as I type this and I can’t help but feel a sadness for them and their mommy who floated inland with the gentle breeze. The weather man says more rain is coming for the weekend and that gives me hope.

Yesterday I sat on the corner of the street with my girlfriend and a cup of tea. It was lightly drizzling and there was a huge puddle in the street before us. We sat there for a long time all bundled up and just talking about nonsense. Lots of cars went by and through that puddle. But the puddle was next to a stop sign so all the cars had to stop before turning onto the main street. This halted any big splashes that could have ended in disaster with the two of us sitting there. We were both surprised that the splashes from the cars were not even making it to the sidewalk, let alone where we were… We both had mixed feelings about that though. When we got up to leave I stomped the puddle…

I didn’t hit the sidewalk either.

They say the rains are coming back for the weekend. I really hope so because my feet are dry and this can’t last for too much longer…

Kevin Littleton
http://www.kevinlittleton.blogspot.com/