April 18 - Home of The Haddons

As much as I love the postman pat-reminiscent countryside and world-class kebabs of the UK, this trip was without a doubt all about seeing some old buddies. And although I couldnt afford the time to see them all there was definitely a day reserved for michelle, who I worked with at camp America in 2004. And her memory of how big I like my lunches is still as crisp as it was 3 years ago when we last caught up so naturally, the day in Sheffield began with a feast - my mouth fighting constantly between talking, and fish and chips. maybe coffee would have been a bit more civilized. Then it was a drive into the peak district (which is almost as imaginative as the lakes district in the naming category), where we would find the castle Haddon Hall, on not surprisingly enough, Haddon road. The hall has had a reserved place on my to-do list ever since I learnt it existed and so I wasn't going to let the fact that it was closed for the day stop me. Besides its my castle so I figure it can't technically be considered trespassing.

Built in the 12th century, this place sits atop a hill on the edge of a valley, bought to life by the army of dafidols which blanket the hillsides beneath and sequestered by the humble river lying on the valley floor. Unfortunately being somewhat of a castle, it meant that getting inside (or even past the stablehouse) proved to be somewhat problematic, so I will just have to settle for what they describe the interior to be like - "the finest example of a fortified medieval manor house in existence". so for the full monty you can check out the virtual tour at http://www.haddonhall.co.uk/tour_virtual_approach.htm where you may start to recognise it from Pride and Prejudice


But this hall was only the appetiser of things to come, and as we wound our way through the peak district where quaint villages and country manors nesstle in valleys strung together by a web of mossy stone walls, we came to Chatsworth House. This is a place which hosts the international horse trials, a special stage in the WRC, and a head-sized icecream selling shop, but most of all it hosts a reality for the imaginations of everyone who dreams of the ultimate country house. Seat of the Dukes Of Devonshire, Chatsworth is just another one of those places that photos will never do justice.


A few years back Michelle had bought me the book '1000 places to see before you die', although as the first one never made it to me in NZ she presented it to me again today. And so as we were sitting in the sun on the 'front lawn' of Chatsworth I open the pages to find the very spot I'm sitting in listed within. So almost instantly I was left with only 999 places left to see before I die. easy.


I rounded off the evening in Manchester before heading home, Thanks to Michelle for a wicked day and a wicked friendship.

April 9 - The Lakes District, England

Up towards the scottish border is a district canvased by lakes called the lake district (they must have been up all night dreaming up that name) and one of my favourite spots in the country. And as the other lads hadnt visited the place since last time I was in England it was the perfect destination for a 1 day roadtrip. Home to Beatrix Potter, William Wordsworth, and the famous Sarah Nelson's Gingerbread (honestly the main reason for going) its a wicked place to go for a stroll - venture off the track and get stuck in a bogged gully - chase a few sheep and stumble back onto the track again, and have a drink for your efforts. The quaint villages and windy stone wall-lined streets always remind me of postman pat, so it just makes the place that much cooler.

April 6 - Homecoming Week

It had been over 2 weeks since I had slept in my own bed - technically speaking my own matress on the floor - when I returned to Uppsala after being in Northern Sweden. But the biggest shock was not that I still had food left in the cupboard which hadn't been devoured in my absence, but that the snow had almost completely dissapeared. And being surrounded by 2 metres of the stuff in weeks prior the sight of actual grass came as quite a surprise. So of course it was painfully obvious what had to be done - and quickly before the snow totally dissapeared - a jandal season maiden voyage..

Kim and I flexing the jandals on the way to the shop

Being Easter a lot of the students headed back home to France, Italy, Belgium, Germany etc and as tempted as I was to duck back to NZ for a few days I instead headed for my second home of Liverpool where I lived on and off at for a year or so the last time I was in Europe. So with all the comings and goings it meant little opportunity to socialise, but after organising a lunch in town for Sunday afternoon (ah you gotta love facebook) I was lucky enough to catch up with some fellow students before we headed off once again. And of course gave me some precious bonding time with Rex. So if youre ever in Uppsala head to Stockholms Nation and ask for a Chicken Wrap and I assure you you won't be dissapointed.

I have been observing the onset of spring now for a few weeks and the whole time thinking how quickly it was coming, but it was in reality nothing compared to what Ive seen these last few days. With the flick of a switch the snow dissapeared, the sun came, and the t'shirts came of the backs of lads who were in such desperate need of the sun one could easily be forgiven for thinking that white t'shirt never came off at all. And like that Winter was over.

A kayak slalom competition held in the river swollen with snowmelt


ENGLAND
As the plane descended through the fog and towards the dazzlingly hazy lights of Liverpool below, and the first specs of rain met an early fate as they collided with the window, I knew I was home. England: bleak, cold, grey, miserable, beautiful. Getting into the car and driving to Upholland with Brog made me feel like I never left - and the only real difference was that the dining room table in my second home had been rotated 90 degrees. Keeping it all a surprise made the whole thing that much sweeter and once I was brought up to speed on the latest, it was as if the last 2 and a half years never passed. It just goes to show what true mates are.

Walking down Central Pier, Blackpool

Vemdalen - The Other Side of Sweden

So after flying from Kiruna back to Stockholm, taking the train to uppsala, and going straight to bed, it was time to get up at 5.30, take the train back to Stockholm, and Board another flight bound for Ostersund - This time in the middle of Sweden, and towards the Norwegian Border. Our destination was Vemdalen and the 10 days which follow on from here will never have justice done to them by a humble blog, but its worth a shot. The place lies about here:


View Larger Map

So with a car load of freshly acquired food for the fondue feast that night and a dog resting on my shoulder slobbering consistently, we headed to what would be our home for the week or so. Myself and my partner in crime Kim, stayed at a ski lodge run by a bloke by the name Tim. And although not technically a kiwi given that he lived there for years, named his dog after footrot flats, and is good mates with half the all blacks, he more than deserves the title. So on the first night we were thrown right in with a dinner fit for a king. We shared the table with a few of the locals who were to become fellow locals to ourselves, a bloke who travels the world racing his hot air ballon (which was parked outside) and a bloke who flew in from oslo, Norway to join in the festivities. And with food that good, courtesy of Tims history of resturaunt management, it didnt matter that we couldnt understand all the swedish flying around the air cos we were far to busy eating.

The next day soon came and it was time to 'head to work', which involves taking the snowmobile 10km through the woods and up the mountain to Timmerkojan. Now by definition this mountain shack is a cafe, but we're not talking the type that you park your audi outside of, head into to order your decaff skim double moca chai latte and sit down with your laptop and your morning paper to check on your stocks. no. This is the type of cafe where you pull up on your snowmobile on a days exploration - or your cross country skis as you traverse the mountains adjacent skifields to have a hot meal prepared on gas by candle light, and the ony 'paper' in sight is the stuff found in the outhouse 200 yards away through knee deep snow; Where the only sight out the tiny blizzard beaten windows is the peaks of the distant national park, and the only sound when its quiet is the sound made by a dead mute man who's mouth has been gagged. This is the other side of Sweden.


There is of course one other way you can get to Timmerkojan, and thats if you get a lift behind Perra's Vesla. If you can picture the best bits of a tractor, a snowmobile, a tank, and a volksvagen and you have a piece of machinery you can tow skiers to the top of the piste with and pretty much drive wherever you please. Until it breaks down. So if it wasnt the snow scooter it was the vesla that was the preferred mode of transport up and down the mountain each day. If youre in need of a good dosage of manliness i suggest you find one of these things.


Then if you really want that cup of hot chocolate, and I mean really want it, then you kit your plane out with skis and fly - this was the original plan of our pal from Norway but due to weather conditions he kept the wheels on his plane (or rather, he chose another plane of his which had wheels on it) and flew to the local vemdalen airstrip, where we went with the airstrip owner to pick him up and take him home. He did however do a nice little flyby on his way back home to Norway the next day:



Then there was of course the mandatory day spent snowboarding, where I got the honour of a local lass taking me off-piste at nearby Bjonrikke. As we stood at the top of the forested mountain side she turned to me and simply said "just don't hit any trees", fairly self explanatory, before I followed her down through the woods and after a wicked ride, out into the valley bottom below. The day then got even more interesting when the board I had borrowed from a local dude conveniently died after the binding snapped. No worries, after a bit of manipulation it was good to go again, however after it happened for the third time I gave up and rode the rest of the day with one binding. Although not recomended I am living proof this is possible, and the lesson here is: be sceptial borrowing a board that hasnt been used in a season or two to aoid any surprises..




So we soon adopted the lifestyle which consised largely of snow mobiles, snowboards, the vesla, and a-grade cuisine and after going shopping at nearby ski resort for some more winter kit we were settling in rather nicely. Getting to know the locals and our way around the villiage was like forging a home away from home and with a sprinkling of kiwi influence on top one couldn't ask for better. But there is one day that I will elaborate on because its fair to say this day was a day like no other..


Like any good day, this one started out with a head-sized bowl of porrige before getting a ride on the back of the snow scooter up to the top of the hill (on these wicked purpose built sled roads with their own roadsigns and everything). Then in the morning with the scooter at our disposal and a wilderness to explore we went for a bit of a wee ride. I had been asked by a local bloke who runs a website to take some photos of the area to put up on the internet, so we headed up to the highest point around to get some shots over looking the mountains and the national park. I then checked my GPS to see the altitude of where I stood and it read 998m - I mean c'mon what do you call that? I just want another 2 metres! Not to worry - 5 yards away stood a 2 metre high cairn pointing majestically up into the sky, as if placed by the hand of fate itself. So naturally I scaled the pile of rocks (that marks the highest point in the range) and triumphantly held my GPS out with the determination and steadfastness of a Sir Edmund Hillary, as it read 1000m. Now, I was content.


So time for the next challenge. Our local man who runs snow kiting lessons at Timmerkojan thought it would be a grand idea on this day to get out the parasail to give it a crack. Firstly the vesla (tractor/tank) was used to flatten a bit of a track for the snow mobile, because with fresh snow overnight it would simply sink into the powder otherwise (much like what happened when one tried to walk anywhere - no you really didnt want gto be in a hurry with snow this deep). We then tied the parasail to the back of the sled and did a round of paper scissors rock to see which one of us lads would go first. Luckily I drew second - and I say luckily because none of us had actually been pulled by a sled on a parasail before and didn't even know how to hold the harness up, let alone how to steer away from the side of the mountain and to keep the sled below from flipping. So with a guinea pig in a fit of nervous gestures ready and the rest of us untangling the lines so that it looked "she'll be right" enough, it was party time. Ill let the photos do the talking from here.









What a sweet day. But it wasn't enough becasue that was just the day, what about the night? Well one day when he was a bit bored, our man Tim built an igloo. As you do. Complete with a glass window, letterbox with a newspaper, a chimney with no fire, a TV antenna, and some flowers out the front. Then snowed in one day he thought it would be cool to dig a 12 meter tunnel going into this igloo. Of course there's no power for miles to run a TV so the obvious solution he decided was to put a battery powered blue flashing light on the inside to fool any passerbyers that we were inside watching TV. The only slight flaw in the plan of course being that on a mountain in the middle of nowehere at night one doesn't really get 'passerbyers'. But like I say, only a slight flaw.

So we headed down the hill, packed the sled with a couple of sleeping bags, a thermos, all the clothes that we owned (and some we didn't) and a guitar, and headed back up to the igloo as the sun cast its last effort of light across the snow covered landscape. And then we were alone. With not even the winds subtle cry as company it was just Kim, Myself, and an igloo. The first step, as you all Im sure know from igloo sleepingg class, was to carpet the inside with reindeer skins - as many as I could haul through the snow tunnel. The snow tunnel which got narrower and narrower as it went along, so you naturally lost at least one boot and one pant leg before you reached the end. The next step, after you put on every piece of clothing you can fit (this by the way was excellent practice for those times you over pack your luggage and have to wear everything on the plane so you're not over the luggage weight limit), is to carpet yourself with reindeer skins. And then you're good to go. Of course with the air getting to -20 degrees I leanrt these steps don't keep you warm, but they keep you alive so thats good enough for me. And thats good enough to say I would definately do it again. We were the first people to actually sleep in this igloo and after Tim did a bit of reseacrh we also learned we were the first people in Vemdalen to have ever slept in an igloo so it made it just that much more worth it haha.

With one of the locals birthdays during our last few days and feeling somewhagt patriotic, kim and I thought it would be the decent thing to do to make a pavlova birthday cake for our pal Greggir. I won't say here what actually happened to our pav during the cooking process, but we'll just say that what you see here is a 'pavalova extra'. And it tasted good (in the end) so thats all that matters surely.. So our second to last night was spent chillin with the locals and eating 'pavlova extra' out of tupaware containers and champagne flutes as there was a slight shortage of bowls in the flat.


The very last night however, was spent with the same style we arrived here into - a banquet of fondue, this time up the mountain where we had forged a new, albeit temporary home. And as for the rest of the experience, like blasting through the woods at night on a snowmobile having absolutely no idea of where you are except ''really close to that tree there'', there's only one way to describe it: rather than reading a page on the internet, go and do it.


Thanks Tim and Flippin for the amazing hospitality; the scooter, the goretex, the translations, the stories aboutthe all blacks we don't hear about, the works . Cheers Kim you're just a legend. And thanks Malin, Perra, Greggir, Raggi, and all you other dudes for giving Kim and I a stay we'll never forget, we'll see ya in New Zealand.



More Photos:

Vemdalen

Kiruna - The Real Sweden

I've been on a lot of trips in recent years and seen some amazing places, and as a result I often find myself saying how much grander each one is than the one before. But this time was somehow different, and the overwhelming task of reflection manifests itself as a reluctance to begin. But to do such a thing would be casting an insult upon the memory which we are granted, and so I will instead try to recreate the days which were unforgettable yet at the same time unrecallable.


It began with a 16 hour train ride, which was bumped up to 17 hours after a delayed departure and a door malfunction in our carriage (yes, just our carriage nobody elses) that meant a further delay whilst they stopped the train at the most inconvenient hour of the morning they could conceive of and relocated us to a new carriage 16 across the station whilst the rest of the train sped off into the night. and we waited. But all it meant was more time to practice our card playing skills, and if that got boring we would watch ourselves on the gps in eager anticipation of reaching 66 degrees lattitude,and crossing the arctic circle. Who would have thought watching a bunch of numbers dancing on a screen could be so much fun..

So after a chauffeur service from the station thanks to some kind fellow students our fist stop was the famous ice hotel, which may come as a shock, is a hotel made entirely out of ice and snow. The ice, harvested from the river behind the hotel, is transformed into chairs, beds, glasses and decorations which adorn the 70 rooms and the bar, although there's no denying that at the end of the day its still ice - and still as cold as it always was. So if your the type who enjoys the ice cubes on the wrong side of your drink then this is definitely the place for you. The temperature no matter how cold it is outside, never varies outside of -5 and -8 so you're guaranteed a cozy nights sleep. I however, decided that I would prefer to keep my NZ$1000 and stay outside in the snow for free.
















The place that recently won an award for "the best experience in Sweden" would not be complete without its own ice chapel and so right next to the ice bar, there she lays (the proximity no doubt specifically designed for the protection from the cold of the guests which attend the 100 weddings held here every year).


So after such a hard days work what left is there to do but chop some firewood and crank up the fire in the sauna, which sits proudly atop a frozen lake so with the lift of a handle of the trapdoor in the floor, you have ice cold water beckoning. And so began the trend which would continue for the next three nights which panned out a little like this: stoke the fire - collapse into a sauna - jump in the hole in the lake, then run outside and roll in the snow - leap back into the sauna and repeat. And with persistent practice I assure you one can become quite skilled at this. Then as the darkness descends and you venture out into the snow with nothing protecting you but a pair of shorts and a thin layer of ice that's formed on your skin, you breathe in the arctic air and look up as the northern lights dance across the horizon, like the fingers of God teasing the earth below.


Day 2 began with porridge made from melted snow, for which the recipe I determined is 1 cup oats, 1 cup on milk, and 1/2 a bucket of snow - just in case you need to know, before we set out on a cross country ski mission 7km around lake. This trip included of course, a mandatory exploration of the woods on the opposite side looking for animal sign, so we not only learned to use nordic skis this day, but also learned how to walk through waste-deep powder (and how to get completely buried by the stuff). Then after the mandatory sauna (yes life gets hard with all these mandatory tasks) we set up camp in the middle of the lake and submersed ourselves in a sea of reindeer skins to sit back and watch the northern lights once more..


Since I was a youngin Theres been a number of things that I simply have to do, like eat snail [done] and meet cookie monster [haven't done], and on day 3 another goal was achieved when I drove a dogsled through the Lappish wilderness. There is something surreal which is felt when the only things to indulge your senses are trees punching up through a perpetual carpet of white, the steady sound of the sled gliding over the snow, and the eager panting of a team of huskies as they pull you into the unknown.



And riding through little gullies between lakes reindeer and elk dart into the forest in the corner of your vision, which seems to be stretched to a limit you never knew possible as your eyes try their hardest to comprehend the beauty they've been all of a sudden subjected to. And with a stop off at a little log cabin for a spot of salmon soup and a feed for the husky's, the adventure continued..

That evening, in the spirit of living in the wilderness, I hatched the brilliant plan of drilling a hole in the ice and catching us some dinner. Although after 25 minutes of hand drilling I figured the fish could wait and that fish for breakfast would be more romantic so marked my hole to return the next day. Of course having no idea how thick the ice was was like having a steak dangled in front of your nose because you never know when your'e going to break through triumphantly to 'the other side'. But then after 1.2 metres of drilling my way to New Zealand, success erupted as a fountain of water from beneath the surface and as humble as my hole may have looked, she was ready to be fished. Unsuccessfully.


Then after four short days our era spent in our little cabin 200km north of the arctic circle came to an end and it was time to fly back to Stockholm and embark on the next mission. But although only 4 days in an entire lifetime, they will be 4 I will never forget. Thanks to the husky's that pulled me, the snow that entertained me, and to Kim for the company that is always second to none.

Photos:

Kiruna