Christmas Swedish Style

Last year we had a barbeque at our house with friends for Christmas. The kids played in a small pool and some of the bigger kids followed this up by a swim in the ocean. You could call it a typical Kiwi Christmas. This year we were looking forward to something very different. If you can believe what Tina says – ‘A Real Christmas’. Would we get a white Christmas? Our chances were definitely magnitudes of order higher compared to the last few years.

The lead up to Christmas started in earnest at the start of December. This also coincided with plummeting temperatures, very little light and the profusion of outdoor Christmas Markets popping up through out Stockholm.

We spent a day at the popular open air museum – Skansen, which is purported to have the most traditional and authentic Swedish Christmas market of the lot. It was a bitterly cold day, however this didn’t dampen our enthusiasm and we took in the stalls, ate and drank our weight in pepparkakar (gingerbread) and Glögg (mulled wine), danced to the nifty Christmassy music being played by the onsite live band, and saw fleeting glimpses of Jultomte, in effect Sweden’s Father Christmas, but in reality a short scruffy dwarf from Nordic mythology that bears only a vague resemblance to the Father Christmas I grew up with. He seems a lot more sensible when compared to Father Christmas, he knocks on the door and asks if there are any nice children instead of trying to squeeze his voluminous weight down a narrow chimney, and he isn’t that fat. He gets porridge for his efforts, which makes sense considered the plummeting temperatures, and he doesn’t hang out malls for the weeks and months leading up to Christmas waiting for thousands of scared children to sit on his lap and have their photo taken. By the looks of him, he is more likely to be hiding out in the forest eating magic mushrooms and drowning himself in glögg, which seems a much better way to spend his time.

 

Hot Chocolate at Skansen, or is that Glögg ?

Get your Julklappar (Christmas presents) here.

Dancing at Skansen

 One weekend we were invited to a traditional Christmas baking session at a friend’s house. Many a pepparkakor was made. In effect pepparkakor are very thin and crispy gingerbread, not to be confused with the thicker, softer German lebkuchen. The snow came too…finally. It was very dry snow though – the sort of thing skiers pine for and snow ball and snow men makers would rather avoid. However, it was cold and although it wasn’t exactly a big dump, it stayed and finally gave us an excuse to fit our ice-tyres to our bikes. An exciting week followed commuting to and from work on the icy surfaces and we were both pleasantly surprised at the gripping ability of the tyres studded surfaces. The cars on the streets also made a peculiar rumbling sound, they too having been fitted with the compulsory studded tyres in readiness for the perpetual winter. My rather miserable mood of the proceeding weeks – I admit I had been struggling with the lack of light a little, evapourated and my mind started planning for ice skating on the local lake which was rapidly freezing over, family snow ball fights, cross country skiing on our back door step and all sorts of new and different riding opportunities that the frozen conditions would open up. Winter… finally, bring it on.

 

Finally - some snow to clean up!

Studded tyres. The most exciting thing to happen in my cycling life for a few months.

 The traditional Christmas work-do was held in the city and consisted of a traditional Julbord (Christmas Table) that included reindeers heart among other strange meat cuts and medieval entertainment while a blizzard raged outside. Interestingly enough, Stockholmers had been advised to stay home that day due to anticipated delays and cancellations with the public transport system. Apparently despite the fact that the city often sits snow bound for months on end, and life goes on no matter what the weather may be doing, the first big storms of the winter always cause chaos. Then, it appears that the conditions are simply accepted and everything magically works again.

 

Fire breather at work Christmas do.

Julmust - a hideous fizzy Christmas drink. Together with a hot dog, the cheap and nasty Julbord of the takeaway lovers.

 Unfortunately the wintery weather only lasted a week. Annoyingly, the daily maximum negative temperatures turned positive again. Not by much, but enough to melt the remnants of the snow, defreeze the lakes and bring the gloom back. The daylight hours were actually more than I had expected – 9am to 3pm, but it was greyer and duller than I had imagined as the sun only just made it over the horizon and the rays didn’t really filter down through to the streets. When you could actually see the sun, there was no warming effect in its rays whatsoever, the sun obviously too far away to have much effect.

The one positive part of the near perpetual darkness – there is a positive in everything, was that Christmas lights could actually be seen. In New Zealand, people can decorate their houses to kingdom come with all sorts of gaudy light shows, but unless you are a night owl, they are kind of lost to the world and in reality just a waste of electricity. But not in Sweden. They added light to the long nights, and in some cases the streets. I would have expected the street lights to be powerful illuminating flood lights in a country with such a long winter. But no, they are reasonably pathetic, which is surprising. But the array of Christmas lights on display definitely help to mark the boundary between road and house in more than one part of my daily commute. Office windows (ours included) and apartment windows nearly all had the ubiquitous pyramid of fake candles lit by the marvel of electricity. Many colourful paper lamps were also on display and the colours and lights definitely helped to brighten the spirits in the darkness of the long nights. Even though I’m from the Southern Hemisphere and am used to long hot days, barbeques and beach life around Christmas time, the cold and dark and pretty illuminations just kind of felt right. But still, the short gey days were killing me.

 

Some people take their Christmas lights way too seriously.

We were both looking forward to the break over Christmas in Germany. Although not exactly renowned for their hot Christmases, we were mainly looking forward to some daylight, and of course staying at the fine Hotel Bayer. We also booked a week in Mallorca in February, a place I thought I would never go, but with the approaching bathroom and pipework replacement in our apartment complex set for the start of the January, we were looking at two months of no running water or sewage and no bathroom in the midst of the darkness with temperatures that are set to dip down to minus twenty. We were dreading it and a week escape in the middle of it to get some vitamin D from the elusive sun was too tempting.

Then we had a stroke of good luck. Friends of ours were leaving. Not that that was good luck, the opposite in fact as it takes a while to make friends in a new city, the last thing you want is for them to leave. However, considering the housing situation in Stockholm, someone leaving also opens up opportunities and the natural question soon followed “Can we have your landlords number?” A house with a small garden with a 1^st hand lease just down the road (ie. Not renting off someone who rents off someone else for a maximum of 12 months), available just when we were to be without water and a bathroom for two months. It sounded too good to be true. It wasn’t, we move in at the start of January. A nice Christmas gift for us just days before we jetted off to Germany for Christmas.

With Ana’s imminent second birthday, the flight to Germany and back was to be the last time she was to sit on our laps for its duration. Tina and I counted up the number of planes she had been on to date. Fourteen including the one we were on. Not bad for a less than a two year old. I’m not too sure if I am proud or horrified at that statistic. Ana was now old enough to know she was off to see Grandparents. And boy was she excited. She sprinted around the airports at Stockholm and Frankfurt in such a state of excitement she didn’t have time to look where she was going, the wave of bag towing fellow passengers simply parting in two so as not to inhibit her progress, while Tina and I sprinted to keep up with her.

Germany was grey but the sun felt warm and refreshing, temperatures were unseasonably into double figures, and it didn’t get dark until 5. Following German tradition we opened presents in the evening of the 24^th and snacked on Christmas bakery lubricated with wine well into the night.

Well, we failed miserably in the white Christmas department, maybe next year. More importantly, we are hoping for the winter to begin in earnest on our return to Sweden and hope the greyness becomes more of a white paradise.

Merry Christmas to all, wherever in the world you happen to be.

Cyclo-what?

I’ve been around on the bike, trying my hand at road racing, track racing, touring, mountainbiking, orienteering, endurance/brevet riding and numerous other semi-disciplines constructed around the two wheel and pedal design. I’ve owned a number of bikes throughout my time too. Some would consider the quantity ridiculously large (I can still remember them all), whereas other keen cyclists would probably consider it a modest sum considering the number of kilometres I’ve put them all through. When it comes to cycling I’m always looking for new challenges and doing things a bit different to what I am used to – albeit based on the same principal of pumping pedals. I guess in this way, I can still use the strength and ability built up over several decades and apply it to a sub set of cycling that at times can seem like a completely different sport. Ie. I don’t have to start at the bottom, which can be rather nice when time is limited. However the big advantage is that I still get the thrill out of doing what I like doing the best – simply riding a bike.

The latest incarnation of my varied cycling career (I guess I can call it a career, I have made a small sum of money out of it – just don’t ask about the expenses!) is cyclocross. Cyclo-what? As an avid cycle fan for many years I have always heard of cyclocross – ‘an exotic sport undertaken by Belgian racing cyclists in winter’.  Cyclocross involves hurling bikes not too different from road bikes around muddy circuits including over wooden barriers, through sand traps and up and down impossibly steep slippery slopes while drunk fans line the course hurling abuse and making noise at the slinky lycra clad riders. It was of course invented before mountain biking, suspension, indoor trainers and other much more practical means to 1. Stay fit in winter, and 2. Get a two wheeled machine around a bumpy off-road course. Mountain biking should theoretically have been the death of cyclocross, however no one told the Belgians and in recent years cyclocross is at a somewhat of a resurgence around the world.

Roll back a few years to February 2011. My home town Chirstchurch is devastated by a series of large earthquakes. The roads are literally littered with pot holes and cracks, and our office is relocated from the city to the airport. With a 25 km commute on pretty average roads and winter around the corner, I looked at my options for a commuting steed. The road bike would be destroyed, the mountain-bike too sluggish, the single speed too damned slow and the touring bike still in bits and needing a major overhaul apart from the fact it’s a reasonably slow and sluggish beast too. Think… cyclocross. Light and fast, with the added benefit of being able to put up with a lot more abuse than the road bike. Combine this with the news that cyclocross racing was coming to town in the form of the Southern Cross Cyclocross Series; it was a no brainer really. A few weeks after deliberating on which make/model, a box arrived at the front door and minutes later the new addition to the Mulliner/Bayer bike collection was ready for a thrashing.

I enjoyed some surprising success in the Southern Cross Cyclocross series in 2011, took myself to the Nationals in Queenstown and despite snapping my chain in the ‘hot lap’ and crashing heavily mid way through the race, picked up sixth spot overall. OK, cyclocross is hardly huge in New Zealand, but I was still stoked to pick up a top ten at the national champs. The following year, I helped organise the Southern Cross Cyclocross Series and my form abandoned me somewhat… or maybe everyone else got faster? But I still loved it. What could you not love about pushing your body to the limit for 45-60 minutes across a lumpy field on a bike with no suspension, in the cold, quite often in the wet – if your lucky in the snow, crashing a lot (I have crashed in nearly every single cyclocross race I have participated in), and half destroying your bike in every race you do? I can’t think of any things I don’t like about it.

So, I was excited to ride cyclocross in Sweden where the scene is a lot more established and the course / competitors completely unknown to me. The first step was to purchase a new stead. My former one had been sold off in New Zealand. I took delivery of a sleek looking Boardman after a few weeks of landing. It has definitely been my bike of choice in Stockholm so far. I took the jump to disc brakes (only legally allowed since last year) but interestingly note that most people still run the old style cantilevers… the difference in weight no doubt the decisive factor.

Karin soon steered me in the right direction and I started attending the regular Sunday jaunts with the local club, keeping on eye on their Facebook page for upcoming events. They seemed to meet up training practically every night! The Sunday races were held on an old golf course at the southern edge of Stockholm and provided good blow outs when I could make it over the summer. It felt odd racing cyclocross in summer, however as the days started to cool, the Stockholm Series began. We were lucky in that close to where we lived were a lot of large open areas and large forests that were riddled with trails. So I had begun training quite regularly in the local forest and back rounds in the mornings before work and had ‘discovered’ some sweet cyclocross riding there too.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0eELJrLefes&feature=youtu.be (Racing in Stockholm Cyclocross Cup)

I was starting to get plans in my head for the pointy end of the season – November. The season has to be early in Sweden as there is just too much snow and not enough light in the middle of winter. A national series culminated in two races in mid November in Stockholm and I wanted to give them a good nudge, with maybe a trip to one of the closer races a little earlier. Training started off well. Turning up to the Sunday club events and basking in the hot sun while whizzing around the various course on offer worked my motivation a treat. I enjoyed myself immensely; however it felt odd in the middle of summer. Therefore I was looking forward to some real cyclocross conditions – cold and wet.

 

Barriers are part of the deal in cyclocross

The courses on offer as part of the Stockholm Series were fun and with 30-40 riders at each event, it was great to be part of the scene. My form was struggling a bit, but I managed to squeeze into the top ten at the two races I made it to. I just couldn’t seem to get my body to push itself as I know it can. I knew I was capable of it and knew if I trained well, the form would come. Then came September and my biking trip to Bergen. That would really force the cobwebs away and after I recovered from that the form would surely come then? The trip went well, and although I was reasonably shattered at the end, I knew two weeks later after I recovered I should start to fire. Well, that was the theory anyway. About a week after I returned, the sickness came. To call it a sickness is a bit extreme, it was a light cold. But combined with plummeting temperatures and wet stuff falling from the sky I took it pretty sensibly so I didn’t get really sick.

 

Slow shutter speeds can make anything look fast!

At any given time there were two out of three of us sick at home. The slight cold would get better and then worse and then better and then worse. But we just couldn’t get rid of it! By this time, the only exercise I was doing was the easy ride to work and back. One month later, then we all got quite sick. That was this week. The final weekend of the national series in Stockholm is on this weekend. Needless to say my great plans came to nothing.

But that’s any sport I guess. Managing your health is part of it and it just didn’t work out for me this time. I went and watched the Men’s Elite race this afternoon. The conditions were perfect. An evening of rain followed by a cold dry day. Karin and I did a hot lap (more like a cold lap) of the circuit which weaved its way around one of Stockholm’s parks and couldn’t believe how slippery it was. The circuit was fun though with lots of short sharp punches and tight off-camber corners. The local band stand and its embankments had been used to good effect and a bridge that spectators could wander under had also been constructed. Of course this was nothing compared to Belgium, but to me, it seemed crowded with spectators. I’m not particularly fond of watching cycle races; I’d rather be doing them but I enjoyed watching the field slog around for a good hour. Being a spectator and hour seemed a very long time. No wonder it hurts!

 

Elite Field take the course in Stockholm

The winner was a long way ahead and rode the text book race. I’m under absolutely no impression I would have been competitive, maybe mid-field if I was on form, but I would love to give it a nudge next year. Watch this space. And if you are a cyclist and haven’t given cyclocross a go, do it. It is serious fun!

Six months and counting

Six months ago we landed in Sweden at the start of summer. The nights were cool but short; however the days were long and warm. Within in a few weeks even the cool nights disappeared and we were lucky enough to experience a long warm and dry summer. ‘One of the best in living memory’ apparently, however in my experience people’s memories are very short when it comes to weather so it’s hard to quantify statements like that.

At first I struggling to sleep at night as it never truly got dark and the curtains in our temporary accommodation were wafer thin. However, six months later a lot has changed as can be expected. We are now in the depths of autumn. It’s a beautiful season in Stockholm with its plentiful parks and reserves. Despite the shortening colder days, I am also enjoying it because I’m not really used to autumn as it’s usually short and not as dramatic in New Zealand, and kind of non-existent the further north up the country you go.

So, seen as how it is the six month anniversary of us arriving, I thought it timely for some more random insights and impressions listed under things I like and things I dislike.

Must be autumn

Things I like:

Houses are built for the conditions.

You always know what to wear in winter in New Zealand in the morning. Recoiled under your duvet in the early hours of the morning, your hands grabbing at the duvets edge willing it closer to your body, you generally know how cold it is outside by how cold your nose is. Maybe if you are lucky enough to have sufficient heating going it is probably a few degrees warmer inside than out, but if you can see your breath and can dress yourselves in five seconds flat it’s probably going to pretty cold outside. However in Sweden (and probably most of the rest of the developed world for that matter) it’s impossible to know. Because in Sweden they have this amazing technology with things like double / triple (yes triple) glazing, insulation and central heating. I know, these terms are practically vacant from the kiwi builder’s vocabulary. When autumn first arrived in Stockholm, I kept trying to leave our apartment in shorts and a t-shirt. Now I know better. I now know that it WILL be bloody cold outside despite how little I can wear inside, so I dress accordingly.

Amazing parental benefits and a system that really supports working parents

480 days of paid parental leave (at 80% of your salary) to be shared between mum and dad. And that’s for each child.

Great place to bring up children.

Stockholm is awash with open green spaces (which are slowly turning to mud), children’s play grounds around every corner and loads of indoor children’s activities including cafes were there are more toys than coffee and more playing areas than table space.

This is a cafe in central Stockholm

Green parks and forests are everywhere in Stockholm - at least until autumn when they are brown and winter when they are white!

The green space gets browner by the day. Ana doing her afternoon gymnastics.

Great cycling facilities and lots of people using bicycles as local transport

You can cycle virtually anywhere without even touching a road.

Car drivers are in general, patient and considerate

Not that you have to ride on the road if you don’t want to (see above), but when you do – and you are allowed, drivers conveniently pull off the road, put their hazard lights on and cheer as you ride past (well it feels like it after commuting in Christchurch).

Great public transport

Stockholm is well served by Tunnelbana (underground/metro), buses and trains.

Close to other places that are not Australia

No offense to the hot dust bowl of a neighbour of course.

Five things I dislike

Housing situation in Stockholm is diabolical

The housing situation in Stockholm is to put it simply… pathetic. I have written about it before but the more I am here the more I understand it. I understand and agree with the reasons behind limiting private investment and preventing the massive landlord / renter market that exists in a lot of the world, but unfortunately it simply isn’t working in Stockholm. The waiting lists for a first hand rental (the only type of rental that legal entitles you not to move every 12 months) is approximately 15 years. Therefore you with stuck with purchasing, or renting off other renters (2^nd hand rental) for a maximum of 12 months at a time… ugh.

Reserved and guarded Swedes.

I wouldn’t call the Swedish emotionless, but if they have emotions they don’t show them in public. To be honest it sometimes borders on rudeness. I know it’s not, but it’s hard not to be offended when I see my neighbour quicken his pace to get inside and lock his door, or purposely pretend not to see me so he doesn’t have to actually say hello (god forbid). It’s also acceptable to not even acknowledge people you are dealing with (that’s a bit harsh but a general observation of many customers in the supermarket at the checkout who say nothing throughout the entire transaction making sure that eyes are kept low to avoid any unnecessary facial communication). Even smartly dressed beggars on trains simply passively walk down the isle of a carriage and place a series of neat pieces of paper on vacant seats that outline reasons why you should part with your money for their cause. The note, is usually accompanied by a picture of their (or someone else) child. They wait patiently at the end of the carriage for 30 seconds and then quietly walk back through collecting up their cards and any small change that has been left. To be honest I'd rather see someone making a scene... but that's not the done thing here.

No decent hills to cycle up and down

I love the rolling countryside for cycling, but what I would give for a descent long hill to slog up!

Eternal sickness

OK, so that’s not true either. But for the last 3 weekends, at least 2 (usually all three of us at once) have been sick. It is of course Autumn, we have moved to the other side of the world and our daughter is attending the bacteria breeding ground otherwise known as kindergarten, so it’s no real surprise.

Overall (7-4 = +3)

Yes, a +3 for our first 6 months seems to sum it up nicely, even if it is the most meaningless static ever concocted. It has taken us some time to find our feet (as expected) and we have settled into a daily / weekly routine of sorts. Tina recently started a post-doc at Stockholm University so we are getting into the rhythm of both working while running affairs and the family at home. I have cut back work to 80% and enjoying two afternoons a week with Ana. Autumn hit us with some pretty cold temperatures. We know a lot worse will come, but we had a two week stint of temperatures that would equate to the coldest weather we would expect in Christchurch over the course of the entire winter. It was only the start of autumn, so we were a little scared; it even forced me to go shopping for some warmer clothes! The central heating system in our apartment was barely working, the radiators emitting just the slightest bit of warmth throughout this time. The temperature in our apartment however also did nothing…. it stayed a constant 18ish degrees centigrade for the entirety so we won’t freeze to death while we are inside at least. Aside the cold it has been grey, damp and dreary and the days are shortening - which is the worst. Everyone told us November would be the worst month, until the snows start to come. Bring it on is all I can say!

An afternoon out in the city. We have adapted and take a thermos with coffee / chocolate with us on family outings.

On the road to Bergen

When Tina announced she and Ana were going to visit friends in Germany at the end of September, my initial thoughts were to take the opportunity and head off on a bike trip. But where to go? I looked north initially. I would love to ride up to the Arctic Circle and beyond. However, the 9 day limit combined with shortening cooler days saw me set a more realistic target of Bergen on the West Coast of Norway.

I calculated that it would still be approximately 1300 km, and via a mix of dirt roads and mountain passes in potentially cold and wet conditions, it was unlikely to be a walk in the park. This suited me fine, as I needed a bit of a blow out before the winter set in, but neither did I want to stretch myself too thin. I did, after all, want to actually make it!

The weeks leading up to take off date saw temperatures plummet to negatives at night and single digit maximums (we are talking Celsius here) during the day with a bitter wind chill factor. It was a bit of a shock after a stunning summer to be honest and had us both a bit concerned about just how cold and long winter was going to be… it was only the very start of autumn! Anyway, there wasn’t much ado but to get on with it and ride the bike really.

Riding out of Stockholm I simply followed the Sverigeleden –Sweden’s National Bicycle Route. It weaved its way throughout the northern suburbs and despite not having much of map to guide me, it was well sign posted so I had no problem following its intricacies… which were many. It was two hours of solid riding before it actually directed me onto a road. It was a small country lane and with the main motorway not too far away, the road weaved its way through small villages and farms on virtually traffic free roads. It wasn’t too long before the bitingly cold rain arrived. It felt and looked like it was going to snow, but it was just the normal wet stuff that came. Sheltering behind a barn, I donned the water proofs, warm gloves and booties and continued on my way north for the rest of the afternoon. It was cold, but I stayed relatively dry in all the kit, some of which was added to the collection of gear at the very last minute on Tina’s insistence… of which now I was glad of. Most of it was never removed, even when it wasn't raining, in the next 9 days of riding (apart from getting into my sleeping bag at night).

The Sverigeleden, which I followed across Sweden

My packing had been a little haphazard and involved a sting of five minute periods over the previous week. I guess I have done enough of these trips to know what I need, and I wanted to go lightweight and fast. But the cold weather had seen me rethink a bit at the last minute. A reasonably large tent, warm sleeping bag and a lot more warm riding clothes had ballooned the selected small panniers a little. But if the weather stayed as cold as it was (it did), I would be wearing most of the gear most of the time anyway (I did), so I didn’t actually need any storage room for it. In the end it was a compromise between comfort and lightness (isn’t it always?) and I ended up with a load somewhere between a fully loaded touring rig and a light weight Brevet rider.

That evening I made camp in a small patch of forest to the west of Uppsala, with approximately 100 km on the clock. It had been a late start and it was dark by 7 so I was simply pleased to be on my way with a few kilometres down. I realised that I hadn’t actually pitched the tent I had with me for a couple of years, and it took me a bit longer than I would have liked in the rain. However, I got there eventually and snuggled up into my warm sleeping bag, relished the simplicity of it all and enjoyed listening to the rains pitter-patter on the tent fly as I dozed off for a good nights sleep.

The next two days saw the cold wet conditions continue and I followed the Sverigeleden to Mora, all the time sticking to small country roads (often with a dirt or gravel surface). The riding was pleasant (when it was dry) and I wove my way through farm lands, woodlands, small rural settlements and collections of summer houses. It was nice… but nothing to get too excited about. I managed just under 200 km a day and when I arrived in Mora I was a little bored with it all to be honest… as well as being a bit tired having put 500 km on the clock in two and half days. I was bored with the riding, the long lonely days (and nights), the cold miserable weather and despite my good progress, the realisation that I potentially didn’t have enough time to get to Bergen to get my flight on time. I checked into a room at Mora, relished in a hot shower, had a good feed and decided to sleep on it.

Autumn colours and cold looking lakes were a theme throughout the Swedish leg

The next morning, my motivation was low. I wasn’t too sure whether I could make it to Bergen to get my flight on time, and even if I could, I wasn’t too sure if I could be-bothered. I’ve been in this space many times before so I did what I did before. Simply pack up, head on my way and see what happens. I removed the pressure from myself of actually making it and decided it was easy enough to turn around and head home if I had to, I at least had time for that. But as so often happens, I hit the road, and despite the freezing morning, I actually quite enjoyed it. Gone were the farms, the summer houses and the villages. It was pure forest… for as far as the eye could see. This was the far west as far as Sweden was concerned and by the late afternoon I had pedalled my way into Norway with a smile on my face. Sorry, Sweden, but you just didn’t excite my riding passion on this trip.

No problems with mosquitos in October - an advantage of travelling late in the season

Sunning myself in a rare moment in Sweden

The road changed almost immediately. The slow rolling hills turned into steeper longer passes and as the road headed up I was surprised to see men in camouflage shouldering guns everywhere. It wasn’t the army, but hunters. They were everywhere. Four-wheel drives were parked sporadically along the side of the road and as the sun got low I spotted men, motionless at the side of openings in the forest waiting for something to walk by. I got a little nervous when it came to finding a place to pitch the tent, until I eventually found a small river in which I couldn’t see the tell tale sign of a parked car by.

The next day looked like it would be a bit of navigational fun and games. I didn’t have very detailed maps (in an effort to go lightweight and if truth be known also due to lack of planning) and I’m too old-school for fancy electronic navigational aids, but the map that I had only showed motorways and lakes… two things not exactly synomonous with pleasant cycling.

I headed towards the centre of Hamar… just south of Lillehammer in which the Winter Olympics were hosted in 1994 – no wonder it was cold! At the tourist information I asked for my best options to beat the motorways and lakes and in no time at all, the friendly staff had photocopied me a cycle map (which they had for sale), poured me a refreshingly hot coffee, and had gone to the café next door and bought me a large biscuit to go with it. Now that’s what I call service. And the afternoon was ever the more pleasant for the encounter as I weaved my way around the cyclist’s impediments on a network of cycle trails and small roads.

Hamar Tourist Information. Couldn't give you advice on the tourist sites but they are a welcoming lot

That night after I had climbed over my first real pass of the trip I camped next to a lake on a disused railway line. Well at least I assumed the overgrown weeds were indicative of its disused state, and later on a passerby informed me that I was unlikely to have any overweight trains rumbling past me during the night.

Cold camping next to a dis-used railway line

It was a cold start to the following morning. I dusted the ice off the tent as best I could and was straight into a freezing descent which took me into the small town of Bagn. I only stopped to get water before climbing steeply out of the valley (and the clouds) to a lovely dirt road that coasted through a stunted and autumn yellowed pine forest. Down below and in the distance sat glimmering lakes and summer houses. The low sun and chill in the air was an ever present reminder that summer was long over.

The constant low sun meant for long shadows throughout the day

Down on the other side, I again descended into the clouds and into the dew infested Eikvidvegen River Valley. I sought out a warm bakery in Gol to unthaw. I had actually passed through here in my first few weeks living in Sweden on my first work trip to Norway. It had been late at night, but as the days were long it had still been reasonably light and I had thought at the time it would be a beautiful place to tour. The travelling was definitely living up to those expectations, and I was well into the swing of things now, my dour mood in Sweden a thing of the past.

Mountains... this must be Norway

After Gol I headed due west again and picked up a very lumpy forestry road on the south side of the valley in order to avoid the busy flat road on the north side. It was far but the line of lease resistance, however the riding was pleasant and peaceful. Until the hills started getting reasonably steep! And then the road turned into a track, then a footpath! It was slow going on the cyclocross (which wasn’t geared for off road riding with panniers) and I was reduced to the odd push, but it spat me out at the right place – Geilo, in time for a pizza at the ubiquitous Peppes Pizza.

After I finished it was five o’clock and dusk. I headed west with haste in search of somewhere to pitch the tent. However despite the beautiful forest and lakes surrounding the road, the whole area was overrun with holiday homes of some sort. I ended riding until it was practically dark and hastily pitched my tent in a car park at the start of the famed Rallarvegen – a popular cycle route I was planning on riding as soon as awoke in the morning. I had made good time across Norway. The kilometres were down a little from the long days in Sweden due to Norway’s lumpy nature but the 150-170 km a day had put me in good stead. That and the realisation that somehow I had forgotten I was flying home on Monday, not Sunday as I had originally thought, meant I had an extra day up my sleeve. It was a nice feeling going to sleep with the knowledge that I now had time up my sleeve. And with probably the most scenic part of the journey to come the following day, the timing was impeccable.

The Rallarvegen (The Navvy Road) was built between 1902 to 1904 for construction access to build the Bergensbanen railway connecting Oslo and Bergen. It is now a popular bicycle route and when the snow melts every July, up to 20,000 cyclists ride the 80 km Rallarvegen (which is closed to cars). The route, which is totally above the tree line offers spectacular views to the surrounding alpine landscape. I couldn’t wait to ride it. Therefore my only complaint would have to be that it was too damn short!

I knew I had time, so I tried to take it slow. There was no sign of the 20,000 cyclists… it was October, they had been and gone. The road weaved itself across the valley floor, the alpine vegetation was a deep yellow, the sky a light blue and the cyclist (me) was happy. The trail passed through the small town of Finse… a strange Alpine outpost where the railway stopped. It seemed its sole purpose was a very large bicycle renting outfit for 2 months of the year. From there on, it was just the odd historic working mans hut, railway outpost, miles of avalanche protection for the railway line, my squiggly road, and me. I stopped at the highest point of the trip (1343 m) and left before I froze to the spot. I tried to take it slow, honestly I did, but the riding was spectacular and it was colder when I stopped. So I plodded on.

Stunning riding and scenery on the Rallavegen

Eventually the trail branched. There was an option to plummet down the road to the fjord at Flam, or an option to up head up to the railway station at Myrdal. Either way was a dead end for a cyclist. From Flam, you went by either boat or a 20 km road tunnel, from Myrdal a short rail tunnel took you through to the valley on the other side of the mountain. I chose the train. I waited out the biting wind for four hours for the five minute journey, and 30 minutes later I had pitched the tent on a lake shore.

The descent to Flam

Final camp of the trip

The next day the clouds had descended and rain was on its way again. I spent the morning descending and arrived in the town of Voss and was checked into the local hostel by 10 am just before the rain arrived. I had just had five days of spectacular weather when it had mattered most, so I relished a lazy day eating and reading in Voss before the final push to Bergen.

The final push was a bit longer than expected due to a road closure and long detour. But despite the rain, I loved riding in the fjords. The rain meant that waterfalls thundered everywhere and as the lumpy road weaved its way around the coast line I enjoyed the final burst into the city I last rode into in 1995… where did all that time go? Despite taking a few days to get into the rhythm of things, it had been a great trip from the heart of the Baltic to the North Sea. The landscapes had been very varied, from the rolling countryside of Sweden, the mountainous heart of Norway and ending in the steep fjords of the coast. Each part of the trip had had its challenges, some more enjoyable than others, but looking back in reflection, they had all combined to make it an enjoyable and challenging trip. With winter fast approaching, I feel it will put me in a good mind set for the dark cold months ahead.

By the time I reached the city limits it was dark. I had a day to spare before my flight so sought out a roof over my head to explore the city from. When Analisa and I had ridden into Bergen all those years ago, we had stayed at a weird sort of campground. I distinctly remember pitching the tent on the top of the roof of a group of cabins. I followed the first signpost I saw to a campground that would be handy to the airport for my flight in a few days time. The signs directed me down a side street and I arrived at a sort of ‘weird campground’. In my tired, soaked state I looked past the entrance and could not believe what I saw. It was the same place I had stayed 18 years earlier. And no, I did not pitch my tent on top of one of the cabins, I rented one of the cabins instead!

I've been to Hell and back... twice

Hell is a small town approximately 30 km from Norway’s second largest city Trondheim. There isn’t much there to be honest. It’s adjacent the airport and consists of a small mall and car park that has a sort of blue theme to it, a few dozen houses and a railway station that has definitely seen a bit more traffic in times gone by.

Hell Shopping Centre - Devil Outfit optional

 I’ve actually spent a lot of time in Norway over the last four months. That is because despite living in Sweden, I am not working on a single project based anywhere but Norway; and that’s a common theme for most people in the office. Why not live and work in Norway then. Well, it works like this. We (in Sweden) are to Norway like a call centre in India and a production line in China are to the Western World… cheap. Yes that’s correct, Sweden is being used as a source of cheap labour. If you had told me that several months ago I would not have believed you - Sweden does not exactly have a reputation for being cheap, it isn’t trust me. However it just so happens that our neighbour… coincidentally given its independence by Sweden as late as 1905, is currently riding a boom and has overtaken Sweden in many ways, labour rates being among one of them. This therefore makes it viable for foreign based companies (like us) to use their pool of ‘cheap’ labour to undercut the local Norwegians. It’s called the global market economy. As a result, many Swedish based companies have set up shop (in paper only) in Norway and are offering their services are very competitive prices on the local market.

 

Lamp at dodgy Norwegian Hotel - Kristiansand

I work in the Soil and Water team for my company, which as always will remain anonymous and will be referred to simply as U*S. Working in the soil and water industry in Norway is ironic in itself as Norway doesn’t have any soil – well there doesn’t seem to be much on the coast where I’ve been working, and the authorities don’t care about water – they have too much of it. You therefore may be asking the question “What on earth do you do there then?” which I will answer simply as “Mind your bloody business, but we’re cheap so who cares”.

 

Typical work scene - somewhere on the Norwegian Fjords

Anyway, back to Hell. There is something else in Hell apart from the mall, houses and train station and it’s very large and very well hidden. So well hidden in fact I’m not too sure many of the locals even know of its existence. It is actually a piece of cold war heritage and due to its location being entirely underground, it is in amazing condition for its age. In the 1960’s, the Swedish Government, nervous about their supply lines throughout the Baltic being cut off in case the Soviets flexed their muscle, built a series of huge underground petroleum depots on the Norwegian coast. Most (if not all) have sat idle and unused for some time now and they are slowly being decommissioned. Which is of course where we come in. Well, if I say any more I’ll either be in trouble or recruited as a spy by Putin so I’ll spare any more details.

 

Underground at Hell... don't light a match

My trips to Norway have taken me literally all over the place really… I’ve done a ridiculous amount of flying and the sight of Swedish King and Queen and the tennis player Björn Borg welcoming me back to Sweden at Arlanda airport has become a common sight.

One of my clients in Norway particularly likes my visits… because it’s always sunny when I’m there. Apart from my first hour on my first work trip to Norway when it poured down – this coincided with the pilot parking the plane on one side of Trondheim Airport away from the arrival gates, and forcing us hapless passengers to walk around the entire mass of airport buildings before we were allowed inside sopping wet, barely a drop has fallen from the sky. It’s actually been remarkably warm at times. Locals have commented frequently that this is not normal behaviour from Norwegian weather (I know I was there 15 years ago and it rained a lot), but I guess I have just been lucky recently. In a few weeks, I plan to cycle to Bergen (supposedly Europe’s wettest city) for a weeks exercise, I’m sure the weather will then turn to custard then, it definitely has in Stockholm!

 

Me... working for once. Well, I have a hard hat and clip board.

Dalarna Holiday Jaunt

On day one at the new job in Stockholm I was asked when I was planning on taking holiday. It wasn’t something either of us had thought about too much to be honest; don’t I have to actually work first? In Sweden; apparently not.

To be honest, we weren’t ready for a holiday. Having spent the last couple of months frantically packing, moving to the other side of the world and then attempting to get settled and start a new life in Sweden, we both felt like we actually had to spend some time in our adopted city – Stockholm, get in to some sort of daily rhythm and maybe then we would consider a holiday.

People kept telling us, urging us to take one though. “Go before summers over”. “Make the most of the warmth and the long days, it’s a long, long winter”. And my personal favourite “Sweden’s got one of the worlds highest suicide rates for a good reason… winter”. Well, OK, if we must. Besides, after one month in our apartment in Rissne, the days slowly shortening, Ana starting at day care on the 19th of August, and an actual rainfall event (yes, practically the first since we arrived two months previously), we decided we had better heed all the advice and go on holiday before the doom and gloom of winter hit us.

But where to go? With Karin around for dinner one night, we consulted the map, which mostly consisted of Tina and I pointing at areas saying things like “That looks nice” and Karin replying with statements like “That’s boring, don’t go there”, or “dull”, with a screwed up face, or simply just a screwed up face. We were beginning to wonder it was worth going anywhere. I’m absolutely positive Karin will never get a job with the Swedish Tourism Board though.

We settled on a region called Dalarna, an area about 3-4 hours drive north west of Stockholm, on the border with Norway and known for some of the best skiing and mountain biking in the whole country. Unfortunately it was both summer so the skiing was out, and our mountain-bikes are still chugging their way over the ocean on the slowest boat known to mankind. The Lonely Planet for Sweden had a whole 9 pages devoted to the rather large region and Dalarna and it was pretty uninformative, so we simply found a couple of national parks, selected four hostels in the area, booked a room in each and hoped for the best.

The hire car, ram packed with our usual entourage of stuff, sped out of Stockholm at the start of the weekend and we arrived in the pleasant town of Rättvik on the shores of Lake Siljan by the early afternoon. The sun was blazing and Ana whopped in delight at paddling in its shallow warm waters. The first of many paddles and swims that were to be had in the following week, or so we thought.

Lake Siljan - that's winter arriving behind us 

Mora was the first stop for the night and we were relieved to find that that hostel we had booked (as were the following 3 over the course of the week) was not a hang out for ageing teenage bus trips or the 20 bedroom dormitory variety. This probably has to do with the fact that they are run by the Swedish Tourist Association (STF) and as Karin suggested, there isn’t much to see in Sweden so the booze buses stay away. In fact we were practically the youngest people staying, accommodation was rented out on a room basis, it was clean, quiet and reasonably priced.

Our arrival in Mora coincided with the end of summer (as holidays are good at doing). The rain and cold came later that evening and the voices of my work colleagues willing me to take a holiday before summer ended rang in my ears all night.

The morning offered us a narrow rain free window and we drove to the small village of Sollerön to wonder amongst a Viking burial site. The villages in the surrounding countryside were very picturesse with wooden red walls and white trims and pretty surrounding gardens giving them an aptly Swedish look. It was no surprise to hear that the surrounding area is known as the most Swedish looking area in Sweden.

The next morning we made a sweeping visit to the Dala Horse factory in Nusnäs so that Ana could feed her passion for all things horse and see a few thousand little wooden horses been created from lump of wood to painted tourist kitch. We left with a few of Sweden’s most sought after souvenirs and Ana also got to drive a bus  (busses being her second greatest passion) when she decided to climb aboard a awaiting tourist bus and the driver happily gave up his seat for a few minutes.

Dala Horse factory - Sweden's most sought after souvenir

Ana about to take a group load of Austrians on the ride of their life!

Next stop was Särna. We stayed at the STF hostel again which was run by a Dutch couple. It was a little akin to a Faulty Tour’s episode, with the constant noise of the landlady yelling at her 4 children (if I had four children I would probably yell a lot too), eccentric rooms that opened either straight into the dining room, lounge or kitchen (as ours did) and seemingly strange long term inhabitants who didn’t (or couldn’t) smile or talk and drank a lot of cider. We stayed 3 nights, the temperature never reached double figures and I can’t remember ever seeing the sun!

Särna also felt like the beginning of the back and beyond too. It was surrounded by endless pine trees, lakes, rivers and not a lot else. It was a handy base to nearby national parks though, hence our reason for staying, and we had a successful day in Fulufjället National Park were we hiked to the base of Sweden’s highest waterfall – Njupskars vattenfall, and up onto the stunted plateau that forms the basis for most of the park. The track verges there, and the tracks virtually everywhere we went during our nine day sojourn were literally heaving with blueberries. Ana, having already become accustomed to this literally endless bounty of her favourite food being absolutely everywhere, soon became an expert blueberry picker and we spent many hours every day feeding our faces with natures free gifts as well as collecting for desert later that night. 

 

Blue berry hunting

The hunter in action

Walking in Fulufjället National Park

Hard to keep walking when there are blue berries everywhere!

Njupskars vattenfall

The following day was cold and bitter. We steered the car north and drove up to Nipfjället National Park. To our surprise we saw a heard of a dozen of so reindeer by the side of the road. Of course we stopped and took photos as the strong bitterly cold winds battered us from all sides. It didn’t seem to bother the reindeer… I guess if it did they would have migrated south a long time ago, but with this being virtually their southern limit I guess they were practically basking in the warmth.

 

Nipfjället National Park - Now that's more like the Swedish summer I was expecting

Through the rain we drove up to Långfjället National Park through increasingly sparse towns, did a short loop walk around the Troll Garden and after Ana had tired of picking up rocks (as toddlers love to do) and eating blueberries (after we dragged her away from them) we drove back to Särna hoping for better weather the next day.

Troll Garden - Långfjället National Park

The weather was better, but it also coincided with me catching a bout of food poisoning. We did manage a short walk back at Nipfjället in the sun (although it was still bitterly cold) and watched a reindeer literally walk straight past us on the track, but it was a reasonably sedate day as we then headed south to the town of Gräsheden which wasn’t a town at all but a place on the side of the road that consisted of a single hostel that looked more like a truck stop run by a strange man from Birmingham, and a development gone wrong that consisted of incredibly expensive looking houses that were all completely empty and awaiting buyers… since the global financial crisis apparently.

Herd of reindeer at Nipfjället 

 

 On the first night we had the hostel to ourselves bar a couple of mountain bikers who had lost the ability to smile and make conversation (including offering a greeting). They were early arrivals for the cykelvasan – a 95 km annual mountain bike race that attracted a mammoth 12 000 competitors. It was run on the same course as the more famous vasaloppet, the worlds largest cross country skiing race. That we happened to be in the region on the very day of one the world’s largest (by participants) mountain bike race was purely coincidental. Yes, we both felt pangs of jealously, but when we saw the course - practically fire roads and tarmac which explained the super fast times (2 hours 43 minutes was the winners time), the pangs subdued somewhat, but only a little. The vasaloppet however…. Hmm, I might have to learn how to cross country ski!

So while the cyclists arrived the next day, we took ourselves walking and blueberry hunting in Granfjällsstöten in the cold, but avoiding the afternoon rain once again (just).

If in doubt - pick blue berries

 

Add your own caption here??

The next day we wove our way back to Rättvik where we bumped into a lady we had met a month before while waiting for a ferry on the other side of the country (I love small countries). Our arrival also coincided with the return of summer. Perfect timing considering the next day we drove back to Stockholm and to work. Although, the heat probably had more to do with the location of our holiday than a change in weather patterns.

 

I think I see the sun....

OK, there was the odd bit of sun

Potty training of a road trip

 All up, a successful adventure, some places to return to – with bikes and skis, and we now feel a real need for another holiday soon.