Midsummer II - Fire, Fame, and...Uzbeks?

The following day, after a brief stroll through Trondheim, we were on our way to Lugnvik - our next host's town, just outside Östersund - for the Swedish installment of Midsummer. Sweden's, like, actually renowned for their celebrations. This is going to be a lot better than Norway's version, no doubt.

We soon found a ride straight to Lugnvik with a lovely woman and her daughter on their way to visit the Swedish side of their family for Midsummer weekend. After a short chat with them, and seeing our eyelids drooping, the mother just puts it out there that it's alright if we want to sleep - she will wake us when we get there. I was incredibly thankful for this because I was pretty knackered from the long haul of the previous day. At some point along this entire Nordic adventure, it became pretty easy to snooze in cars with strangers. I still remember how impossible it was for me initially.

Thanks to her daughter's iPhone, the woman drove us right to our host's place, and after thanking her profusely, we rushed to meet Benny and get started with the Midsummer festivities, woo! Benny was a fun host with a great sense of humour and a couple of guinea pigs. We found out from him that most people didn't really celebrate Midsummer too seriously, or else it was only a family event. But we still decided to go into town with him and another CouchSurfer staying there to see if anything was happening. I was looking forward to do some firepoi spinning too, since it had been so long, and perhaps there would be some money to be made on Midsummer. 

It was around 11pm when we got there, still crepuscular outside, and somewhat drizzly. Östersund was a ghost town. I had no end of François' mocking: "Let's go see Midsummer in Sweden, yeaaaaah!" But hey, if you can't find the party, make your own. Everyone was armed with an SLR as I performed for my limited audience at the city's bus station. Benny even recorded a short clip in which the desolateness is plainly visible.

It would be unfair however to say that there were absolutely no people and no celebrations though. There were a few happily inebriated young fellows passing by, cheering and taking photos. At some point I yelled back at them: "Give me money!". Then they came closer and we took photos together. Thusly went Swedish Midsummer. Fun was had once again.

Upon our return to Benny's place, his brothers had showed up, and as Benny was chatting with them in Swedish and pointing excitingly at the camera and at myself, the brothers suddenly turned towards me and stared disbelievingly. Luckily the social awkwardness was cleared up pretty soon; apparently 'poi' sounds a lot like 'porn' to Swedish ears...

***

A portion of the following day also deserves special mention though. Benny took us to see one of Sweden's largest waterfalls, and we also visited a chocolate factory where copious amounts of free samples were doled out. Then, after stocking up on some crushed reindeer in a tube, we said our goodbyes to Benny and he dropped us near the road we had to take to continue our journey. 

It seemed like the worst location to get a ride, so I set about making crushed reindeer sandwiches when a car stopped, and some bewildered passengers began gesturing to us half hesitantly, half insistingly. I was taken aback at first and was not sure what they were trying to communicate, as we had no common language. I finally managed to gather that they were headed in the same direction as us but only up to a town about half-way from where we had to be (thankfully I had a pretty good memory for some of the names of places in the areas we passed by!).

As we agreed to go with them, the driver, a sixty-something plain-looking man, stepped out of the car to move some items from the crowded back seat into the even more crowded trunk in order to make room for us. His wife, a jovial and plump woman wearing a headscarf, shortly followed suit to make sure he would not crush the cases of eggs. The couple had been in the area to buy some food because it was apparently cheaper. I suddenly had flashbacks of rural Eastern Europe.

We then all squeezed into the tiny space with our large bags and set about awkwardly acquainting ourselves. It turned out they were from Uzbekistan! They spoke Uzbek, Russian, and some Swedish, and the husband could speak a few words of English. The wife generously offered us little croissants and chocolates, along with some tea (she was holding a huge insulated teapot and some cups on her lap, among other things). We were incredibly grateful for their kindness, and I was glad to at least be able to thank her in a language she would understand. She smiled so deeply and nodded every time I said "Spasiba".

The husband tried to make conversation with us, and I kept turning to François to decipher what they were saying. Despite the fact that François' English and Russian are less conversational than mine, he was the one who understood most of it! He had a practised flair for interpreting what people intended to say in foreign languages, whereas I was analytically hanging on to each of the words' literal meaning. I think we were talking about how the summer had been rainy in Scandinavia so far. And we told them where we were from and where we were going. Eventually the guessing and interpreting became somewhat draining for everyone so we just enjoyed the scenery quietly.

As we were munching on the pastries, the husband cranked up the traditional Uzbek music to really set the mood. It was unreal. During that entire ride, I had completely forgotten we were in Sweden.

When we arrived at their hometown, the husband took François aside, looked him in the eye, and told him that he would go out of his way and drive us to our destination if we paid the gas. We declined. He then asked us if we needed a place to spend the night. They gave us their phone number and told us to call them if we needed anything, and that we could stay the night in case we didn't find a ride onwards. This was all translated to me from Uzbek-Swedish-English to French by François, by the way. I was just speechless. After many smiles and waves and "Spasiba", they were on their way and we were on ours. 

We ended up being lucky and getting a ride out of that small town, but I still have the little piece of paper with their phone number in my notebook.

Midsummer I - Vikings & Trolls

This lovely Scandinavian holiday was another of the main reasons for this trip, so I was pretty psyched to spend Norwegian midsummer in Trondheim on June 23rd, followed by a little side-trip to Sweden, where midsummer was celebrated on the 24th. Another of those expectation versus reality stories ensued. To be expected: huge bonfires, drinking, partying, eating fish, dancing 'round maypoles....but here's what actually happened.

The journey to Trondheim was one of the smoothest of the entire trip. It was also tied as one of two longest distances covered in one day of hitchhiking: 538 km (the other being Riga to Białystok - also around 530 km). We left early and the day started off well. After asking which way to the highway, François got offered 100 Norwegian krone by a guy in Oslo, who insisted we take the train. Soon enough, we found a ride with a lovely couple on their way to a funeral in Ålesund (second lift with people headed to or coming from a funeral...). They were incredibly kind and shared their lunch sandwiches with us as we discussed the floods that had recently occurred around Lillehammer. Some of the roads were still blocked and the damage to some properties was very visible. The woman was originally from the Faroe Islands, which was an interesting coincidence because François had gotten into the hilarious habit of asking everyone "Do you know how to get to Faroe Islands?". He had been looking for a way to possibly boat-hitchhike there from Norway, but turned out it was unfeasible. She also highly recommended Lofoten Islands and the southwestern coast of Norway. And after so many votes for Lofoten, it was now materializing as a concrete destination.

In Lillehammer, they dropped us at a gas station while they went to buy some groceries, with the generous agreement that they would drive us a bit further North (until the fork to Ålesund) if we still hadn't found a ride to Trondheim by the time they finished their shopping. However, despite still being quite some way from Trondheim (about 5 hours), it took all of 3 minutes to get a direct ride! While we were waiting around the gas station, a sizable Viking boat caught my eye. That's right. It was sitting on a trailer while the people from the two cars accompanying it were inspecting it, or chilling around. I thought it would be awesome to get a ride with the Viking boat if they were headed towards Trondheim. My hopes weren't too high, but I decided to go ask anyways.

O Viking Vessel! <3

A couple of minutes later we were settled in a mean-looking 4x4 with a view of the Viking boat being pulled by the first car. It turned out the convoy was headed to a BYOB (Bring Your Own Boat) Viking festival in Trondheim. Hurray!

While François and one of the younger boys snoozed for most of the ride, I absorbed Norwegian culture from Kristoffer, the driver. Troll legends, imported Canadian muskox, great trekking locations, music (Edvard Grieg; Bigbang; Electric Woodland)... The scenery became more and more breathtaking and reminded me of Western Canada. We stopped for a rainy lunch break and I took the opportunity to mingle with the local troll.

I also had a second go at attempting to fix my camera, prompted by encouragement from Kris, who was studying mechanical engineering in Trondheim. I gently nudged the mirror and it finally unjammed! Success! My pinky can do the job just as good as 500 krone. Like a boss.

Back on the road and soon arrived at destination. Following the 5-hour trip with Kris, it felt like we had known each other for much longer. I'm always thankful and amazed by how quickly bonds can form when hitchhiking; you seldom feel lonely or among strangers. There's a sort of unique trust and connection that inevitably permeates when you share a significant amount of time in a tiny space on wheels.

Kris promised to drop us off at our host's place once the boat was brought to the festival camp and the rest of the group had set up. The festival was basically a small group of people living out a weekend of Viking reenactment. We got to go in for free and have a quick look around during the preparations.

Real Vikings Recycle

The Festival Camp

We shortly headed off to find our host, Marco, but we only had an address and no idea about directions, and Kris was unfamiliar with the street name. But I happened to be half-consciously looking at the street signs, when one of them caught my attention. After checking in my notebook again, turns out that was indeed Marco's street -- stop the car! Trondheim is Norway's third largest city, so this very lucky coincidence saved us a lot of wandering about! I was however a bit sad to part ways with Kristoffer. The rest of the evening was enjoyed with Marco's company and some warm food - a lovely and quiet way to end a day of such good turnarounds.

 ***

I remember having a conversation with Kris at some point that went something like this:

"So, is this Viking festival part of the Midsummer celebrations then?"

"Midsummer? Hmm...no, not really."

"Oh... Well, is there anything going on in the city for Midsummer?"

"Not sure. I wouldn't count on it..."

So much for Norwegian Midsummer. Oh well, fun was had anyways.