Blog 8 Lake Vattern, 28 June - 2015

There is a tendency when writing travelogues such as this blog, to focus on what is beautiful, ideal or worthy of merit. It is somewhat of a coincidence that a number of unusual sights and experiences have been encountered in the last week so what better an opportunity than to remark on the remarkable and even bizarre.

In this category falls the incessant Western and Country music, at lovely Motala, which was mercilessly and without end, piped into every toilet cubicle, shower room, laundry and other facility provided by the Gota Canal Company - albeit they were all luxurious and surgically clean but never before have I realised that so many women from "West Virginia" break their hearts with unbelievable frequency to the backing of steel guitars over "my man," nor men - coincidentally also from "West Virginia", all wanting to take "that country road" back to where they came from. All delivered in an infinite number of ways but oddly enough all sounding much the same. There now, having written those words, I can't get the tunes out of my head - Ahhhhrg! (scream.)

You will have gathered if you have been paying attention over the weeks that I take an interest in birds. To my delight since moving inland along the canal, the boat has been visited by families of sparrows - my parents would have wondered what was so special - but at home we no longer see one let a lone a family. So tame, they first land on the boat guard rail, tilt their head and sum us up, and once happy they drop into the cockpit and eventually take crumbs from the hand, filling their beaks with morsel after morsel until they can hold no more before flying off to their young presumably. Not the most showy birds but they have their different markings with back bibs for the boys and bring a sense of communication which I find warming.

What was considered unusual has now become almost everyday, except that Motala was the venue for the World Championships Triathlon swamped the town with hordes of athletes from every corner of the world. I am sure that if the triathlon was imposed on criminals it would be prohibited under some Human Rights legislation - however, as extremely fit looking volunteers they were out in Lake Vattern ( 14 degs C ) swimming for fun, cycling to the supermarket in tear-drop head-wear and wrap around mirrored goggles on bicycles one can only describe as the result of some surreal imagination - certainly not like the Hercules I used to have, and walking everywhere with plastic numbers attached to their wrists and footwear created in dazzling combinations of florescent colours that even an attention seeking parrot would be ashamed to admit to.

As a sequel to this item, it was necessary to inform our French friends with some humility this morning that a Frenchman had won. There is a French word in my mind - but this is a family show.

The Swedes have a penchant, it seems, for very large classic American cars. It is a mutant way of expressing the "boy racer" tendency I think - a cross between Hells Angels and those who live in an imaginary cine-land filmed in gaudy technicolor of the 1950 - 60's - parading and roaring around following us from the last place to this. I admit to recognising Chevrolet Corvettes, Ford Mustangs and Cadillacs but my mind was bedazzled with the design features required by ordinary human beings living in the US at the time - why did the boot ( trunk presumably ) need to be large enough to take a grand piano - and was it really aerodynamically advantageous to furnish every other car with tail fins like some chrome plated, pastel pink fish? I was intrigued however by the variety of slow rumbling throb of exhaust notes at traffic lights shortly followed by a screaming crescendo and whiff of burning rubber as one beast after another launched itself into ecstasy and the world beyond. In truth, a smile played at the corner of my lips as a look alike Thelma and Louise couple, scarves flying, cruised by waving to the audience from their Ford Thunderbird convertible. OK, so they had something there - if you haven't seen the film, get the dvd.

We crossed Lake Vattern to Karlsborg. What a lake - 70 miles long, not a glacial formation but a true rift valley formed when the earth was young and now filled with water. Most lakes are, if it is not stating the obvious, above sea level. This one is almost 90 mtrs above, yet is below sea level at its deepest. And here in Karlsborg at the edge of the lake on a protected shallow peninsula is another bizarre sight. Sweden's very own Fort Knox, a massive fortress which took 90 years to build from 1819 for the purpose of housing the nation's gold, treasures and Royal Family in the event of war - well, by the time it was completed it was obsolete and consequently never used to any advantage. It is one of the largest in Europe, could house thousands and is easily a match in scale for many small towns with streets, houses, hospitals, schools, churches, parade grounds and barracks, not to mention defensive works of colossal scale in the most exquisite limestone. Grand, spacious and tree lined but flavoured with a military touch. Even the magnificent chandelier in the church was created from 267 bayonets - what more can you say. Gosh, possibly.

Let me finish on a sporting note. Miniature golf courses appear with regularity - you know, those with little bridges, flower pots, spiral tracks and other obstacles to encounter before your golf ball gets to the hole 5 mtrs away. Waiting for inspiration this morning, I watched four grown men "having a round of golf," each in turn aiming for the ramp which led to the net which led to the slope which led to the hole, then ceremoniously agreeing and marking their score cards before moving on to the next hole. I know nothing about golf, but wonder - is there a handicap system for miniature golf - or even a "Masters?"