Have You Driven a Fjord, Lately?

So, like most people, the first thing I noticed about Norway is that nothing rhymes with fjord. The second thing I noticed was it's unspolit splendor. If a massive earthquake shook the earth, fracturing our beloved United States, and everything west of the Rockies fell into the sea, drowning millions of men, women, and children you may begin to approximate the beauty of coastal Norway - without any of the gratuitous death and destruction. The rugged coast is chock full of majestic fjords, wind-swept isles, and quaint, rustic towns. On my way to the coast I spent exactly four minutes in Hell. Once again, we have been lied to. Hell, as it turns out, is only an express train away from Oslo. No service I ever attended described Hell as being surrounded by some of most pristine forests and glacier-carved ravines on the planet. Had I known this, I would have gladly gone to Hell a long time ago. And I suggest you all do the same. After taking a the most scenic train of my life from Dombas to ?ndalsnes - which curved down a massive gorge teaming with countless waterfalls - I hopped a quick bus to the coastal town of ?lesund. ??Note: I'm going to have to cut this short because I am out of time.?? There I met an Englishman named Chris who I hiked around with for a day. We wandered along the rugged coast and ended up in this woman's backyard by mistake. She caught us red handed and we sheepishly (and not too honestly) claimed we were lost. The following day I headed down to the small town of Gerainger via the Gerainger Fjord cruise. Cruising through the giant fjord was an amazing experience. The day was perfect and I got a million pictures. The town itself was lovely, and I got in some seriously good hiking to the most amazing waterfalls I have ever seen up close. I even got to hike behind one. Well, my time is up! I have to run!

Ruldolph Got Ingested On The Train, Dear

Because I ate the reindeer. If it makes you feel any better, Rudolph was a little gamy. This and other delicacies can all be yours if you visit beautiful, stormy Finland. Once again proving the dictum that it's not the destination but the journey, the most enjoyable part of my Finlandian excursion was the voyage to and from Sweden. Unbelievably, my Eurail train pass provides free passage on the Silja Line cruise ship from Stockholm to Helsinki. No slouch of a ferry, this massive overnight cruiser had six restaurants, two clubs, several bars, a tax-free shop, and, most importantly, blackjack tables. The impact of the ship's enormity sunk in when I saw a full size 18-wheel Mack truck drive into the hull like it was a match-box car. My roommate on this fateful journey was a Korean student of architecture named Jo (actually Jo is his last name, but to pronounce his first name correctly I would need to pull out your tongue). A boisterous and jovial sort, we had a blast together. Having never been on a cruise before we both greedily explored the ship from bow to stern. We ate at the restaurants, drank at the bars, and discussed his requisite service in the Korean military. Jo was a member of the chemical decontamination unit whose job was to clean up the mess after a bioweapons attack. Scariest factoid: once a bioattack region has been thoroughly cleansed, it is the responsibility of the youngest team member to remove his protective biosuit to give a live test of the affected area. As Jo explained with cold logic, the youngest member is the least experienced and therefor the least valuable. Yeesh! We had a good laugh about it though. I also taught him how to play blackjack; as I once again walked away from the tables with 100 euro in profit. I could make a living off of this. Helsinki itself was nothing special. It was cold, rainy, and overcast which is not out of the ordinary, according to the locals. Dark and snowy for most of the year, Helsinki is to suicide as obesity is to Houston. It's really a wonder that anyone lives there at all. For me the highlight was walking around the open-air fish market down at the shore. I bought a couple of whole, smoked mackeral right out of the back of a boat and fought with the seagulls as I munched on a pier. The gulls swoop down and try to grab the fish right from your hand so you can imagine the scene as I'm sitting on the end of a pier waving a bunch of half-eaten mackeral in the air like a madman. I sampled a few other creative dishes, my favorite being the miniature, whole (head, tail and all), whitefish that are battered and fried then served like french fries with a garlic sauce. Yummy. Tell me if you've heard this one before. So, a Jew, a Korean, and Frog walk into an Irish pub where an international crowd is listening to a Swedish band playing American music. There's no punch line, except that if you've heard this one before then you were at my birthday bash at Molly Mallone's. The place was packed (almost certainly in my honor) and the band belted out tunes from the eighties while we sang along, tapped in rhythm, and tried our best to talk above the din. A met a mongolian man who bought me a celebratory shot of Finland's national drink, Salmiakki-Kossu. The powerful, inky-black liquor tasted like a cross between licorice and Nyquil. As I sipped the shot, a warm burning sensation spread out from my lips across my whole body; and my phlegm was definitely looser. All and all, not a bad way to crest into my 28th year.

Two Bits

A sea of blond-haired, blue-eyed, beauties glided through the streets like a parade of angels descended from heaven. Naturally, I assumed I was dead. As it turned out I was in Stockholm, where jaws hang slack and you need to mind your feet to avoid crushing anyone's lolling tongue on the sidewalk. I had a theory that a tall, dark, and handsome lad such as myself would be like an exotic pearl, rare and precious in this fair-skinned land. Nope. I was more like the discarded oyster, given a cursory glance of disgust before being shucked into the disposal. Bruised ego aside, I found Stockholm to be one of the most beautiful cities in all of Europe. The historic center of Gamla Stad was architectural eye-candy. Steep, hilly roads and narrow, cobbled streets beheld an array of colorful homes, quiet squares, quaint shops, and the buildings of the Royal Palace. Everything was immaculate, the paint even seemed fresh and vibrant. I had gotten up early and the streets were deserted. It felt like my own personal playground, so I broke a few windows and stole some candy. On a sugar high I visited Storkyrkan, the unpronounceable Royal Cathedral of Sweden, whose most interesting feature is a life-sized statue of St. George and the Dragon. This was fascinating to me for two reasons: One, there wasn't much mental association in my head between dragons and Christianity. I once heard a story about Jesus curing a ham but never slaying a dragon; Two, the vast majority of the dragon was built using the antlers of elk and deer. So, despite all of Sweden's ravishing beauties, this dragon has the odd distinction of sporting the nicest rack. I once again skipped all of the museums, as is my custom, but wandering the streets was joy. Stockholm is built on a series of islands that stretch out from the city, east into the ocean. In fact, the coast sports an unimaginable 24,000 of these little islands, of which only a handful are inhabited. I explored the two most accessible, Skeppsholmen and Kastellholmen, looking for a rest room. Definitely a recurring theme in European travel is to make sure you have pockets full of change for the facilities. Can you believe it costs a dollar to take a shit in Sweden? I'd hate to think of the spiraling debt I'd accumulate if I got a bout of the runs. Finally, I rented a bike and explored the large garden island of Djurgarden, getting lost only thrice before finding my way back home. I have a confession to make. Truth be told, I did get lucky with one of the Swedes. I met her in a little shop off of one of the main squares. A knockout by any standard, we chatted about this and that, and before I knew it she was seductively running her fingers through my hair. Surprised, but not enough to lose my cool, her delicate fingers caressed my head and sent tingles down my spine. I'm a gentleman so I'll spare the details, save I was late for a train and thirty minutes later we mournfully parted ways. My haircut was done.

Wavy Gravy Had Babies

After the ribald fury that filled the streets of Amsterdam, Copenhagen seemed a veritable ghost town. Despite wide, multi-lane streets, traffic was but a trickle. This isn't surprising when you learn that Copenhagen - no joke - has a budget busting 180% tax imposed on new car purchases. It's your standard Toyota Buy Three, Get One deal they've been running throughout the States. Suddenly, public transport seems pretty appealing. The quiet streets give this big city a rather small town feel and it was a nice respite from the hurly burly I had emerged from. On foot I explored the lovely parks, large plazas, and the forgettable but requisite visit to the famous statue of The Little Mermaid. A small crab crawling around the base of the statue started to break into song but I crushed him with a rock before it got out of hand. Another highlight was Amalienborg Palace, the residence of the Royal Family. The guards had none of the pomp and circumstance of the Brits but they had funnier hats. I think you can tell a lot about a country's military prowess by the size of that beehive. There seems to be an inverse correlation between hat size and military might, which may explain Copenhagen's Christiana neighborhood. Have you heard of this place? True story: a bunch of stoned and homeless hippies broke into an abandoned military barracks and refused to leave until someone delivered 32 pizzas with extra cheese. The military balked and - 30 years later - the hippies are still there, now 1000 people strong (apparently, if left to their own devices hippies multiply like rabbits). Keep in mind that this is smack dab in the city proper, not out in the boonies somewhere. They have their own political structure, education system, radio station, and (ahem) pharmacy. Curious about their society, I explored this crazy shantytown to learn what I could. Their main industry seems to be, well, sitting around smoking weed. Actually, it's tourism, which I find rather humorous. Nothing screams ''sell out'' like leading middle-aged gawking yokels on guided tours of your hippie commune. From what I understand, the place isn't what it used to be. A series of police raids in the late nineties knocked out the soul (aka, 5,000 lbs of hash) from the community. I got a nice kebab for lunch though. Away from Copenhagen on subsequent day trips I visited the small hamlets of Hillerod and Helsingor. Both had glorious castles but Hillerod's Frederiksborg Slot blew me away. Built on three adjoining islands, Frederiksborg is a magnificent example of Dutch Renaissance architecture. From a distance it was breathtaking, but, like two hippos having sex, it just got better the closer you were. The courtyard housed a massive fountain, my favorite of the trip; a triumphant Poseidon, poised high in the air, giving the death-metal devil salute with his right hand, surrounded by no fewer than 15 acolytes who were all spurting water from their nether regions (rectum included). Yeah, that'll do for Denmark.