Day 14: Gothenburg

---

March 6, 2008: Gothenburg, Sweden

Bright flecks of light shimmered off the water in my glass--clean, clear tap water. The tap water in Sweden tasted better than any I'd had back home. I examined the water carefully but could see no special properties. Even though my conclusion proved the contrary, I still clung to the belief that there must be something in the water in Sweden. Every time I turned a corner, shifted my view, or sneezed, there was another beautiful woman. They seemed to spring from the ground and swarm the streets like urban locusts (although beautiful women are a decidedly better swarm than are locusts).
Surprisingly enough, Henrik didn't have to resort to stripping down naked and running laps around the town singing "I Feel Pretty" to get my attention. A few air horn blasts in my ear was all it took to pull my attention from admiring the scenery.
"It was built in 700 A.D." he said.
"What was?"
"The castle... The thing I've been wanting to take you to all week."
"Oh right, where they have the big festival in the summer."
The castle was imposing, as castles are supposed to be I imagine, even in its ruined state. Tall brown grass waved in the whistling, chill wind. A warmly clad woman leaned against a stone marker covered in runes. The muddy path leading up to the castle was quiet. How strange for a place that has seen so much death, so many wars, and so much bloodshed, to seem so tranquil and inviting now. Unfortunately, the castle was closed so we were unable to see any of the inside.
The festival, Henrik told me, is a highlight of the summer. Traditional music, vendors, and of course the peasants (that would be us, the visitors) all mingle throughout this authentic venue during a week of drinking and camping. Though it is no longer host to death and destruction, this castle still sees its fair share of murdered brain cells.
Murdered brain cells--now that sounds like a good idea. For my last night in Sweden Henrik decided to show me some local nightlife. Consider it an exercise in preemptive population control: if my skull gets too crowded there won't be enough food to go around. I must kill the bastards while there's still time.
The bar was lively by the time we arrived. I was apprehensive about going to a bar where Henrik knew most everyone while I would sit at the bar conducting my population control. His friends (which was pretty much everyone there) were as inviting and friendly as Henrik had been all week. Far from feeling out-casted, I was made to feel at home immediately. After having heard Henrik talk all week of how good mead is, I set out to try some.
"No mead."
Since I'm not much of a beer drinker I decided to try some hard cider. After a few hard apple ciders, the bartender began listing the other flavors. Pear? Sure why not. Raspberry? Bring it on. Oh wait, this raspberry cider is pink. It was at this point I figured if I'm going to sit here feeling emasculated I might as well go all out. "Excuse me," I said, "can I have a straw please?" Lights flashed as I posed for the camera-phones, sipping my drink, trying not to laugh too hard.
Somewhere in Sweden there is a giant of a man, burly and hairy as giants tend to grow. He wanders around his house, doing manly things. This giant happens to have a friend who was with me at the bar that night. The phone exchanges hands, the giant takes one glance and hands it back with a shake of his head and a slight snort. "I knew I was right about Americans," he says. And somewhere, a Texan dies.
I feel I did my gender and my country proud.
Two hours later it was time to leave. I cursed early trains as we left the warmth of the bar to venture out into the bitter Swedish night. Back at Henrik's apartment we had one last short conversation before we both crashed. A perfect end to a great week.

---