what is everyone complaining about?

i'm not a fan of potential change that global warming could have on the climate, mainly because it could surely make it difficult to learn how to cross country ski; my main goal for next winter. but i admit i LOVED the weather in NYC over the last couple of days. it was scorching and muggy on Tuesday and Wednesday, followed by the general urban dampness that came after the massive thunderstorm last night. i'm serious. i was loving it. that said, i am excited to head down to Richmond, Virginia this weekend to watch Chach race in the "I Love the Tavern Triathlon" with Trowler, and our Richmond friends M & I. sadly, no, i won't be participating in this one. instead i will once again cheer Chach on from the sidelines.

but that wiley wife of mine did manage to rassle me into running the Atlantic City Half-Marathon on Sunday, October 14th with fellow teaching friend of her's, and possibly a special appearance by my father in-law! he runs a 10K in Nice (in France, if you weren't aware) every year and he is supposedly interested in running with us.

for those of you interested in gambling and not running, we will probably book our hotel in mid August. stay tuned!

also on tap for the summer are several other expeditions...

July 7th: the Tour de France in London, England. the post-Lance Armstrong Tour is wide-open this year and the Prologue will take place in London for the first time, as well as for the last time as they are reformatting the race for 2008. someone will actually be crowned a champion this year, which makes for a perfect opportunity to get into this underrated sport if you haven't already. definitely check out Tour coverage on Versus; after a few stages, you'll be a believer. plus, it's a great excuse to sit in front of the TV, eat creamy French cheese, and drink copious amounts of red vin. how much more convincing do you need?

July 27th: we may keep to our Francophone theme in July and visit Quebec. or we'll screw the Canadians and drive 4 hours through horrible weekend traffic and spend the weekend in Bethany Beach, Delaware. either way, the calendar is marked for fun.

August 18-25th: our yearly sojourn to Colorado will include mountain climbing, elk sighting, more wine drinking, and a search for property so we can finally build the weeHouse we've always wanted.

climb every mountain

(time got away from me. my apologies for the late post.)

up the volcano

i was about 1000 feet from the top of Mount St Helens (MSH) when i stumbled and slipped in someone else's snow post-hole for what seemed like the umpteenth time. right then i came to the conclusion that accomplishment was totally overrated. Chach and our climbing partner Dave were about 50 feet ahead of me; i could just yell up and tell them that the altitude was really getting to me or that the hotspots on my feet were truly forming into blisters. then i'd walk down about 100 feet to a nice, comfortable bed of exposed rock and ash that i'd passed about 10 minutes ago, set myself down, take off my boots, nibble on some gorp, and maybe get some sun like normal East coasters do on Memorial Day weekend until the other two-thirds of my group came back down. it wasn't the fear of not being able to climb this beast of a volcano that pushed me to continue on - i've never been afraid to not achieve in my life - but agony of potential self-loathing induced by the mockery of friends when Chach told to them that i decided to stop while she cavorted happily on the summer would be too much to bear. so, i grasped the head of my ice axe and trudged forward.

most mountains i've climbed have relatively indirect trails that weave in hairpin curves with a final uphill scramble the last couple of hundred yards to the summit. it seems that one must take a different approach to tackling these Cascade volcanoes: find the trailhead; walk a few miles on flat, improved trails until you hit the treeline at the slope of the mountain; hike straight up via the shortest route through snow - and in the case of MSH, ash - for 4 grueling miles until you reach the top. think of it as spending 6 hours on a stairmaster wearing a backpack.

armed and ready for bears

post-holin' up MSH

down the side of MSH into Washington and N. Oregon

man against mountain

classic alpine hiking (chach in front, zain in back)

skiers on MSH avoiding a small avalanche

atop MSH

fortunately for us, the weather was ideal so we took our sweet time getting to the top, even though our group was definitely the last to hit the trail that day. we were able to pack light and we didn't need to haul any nasty equipment like ropes and crampons to tackle the glaciers. we arrived at the summit on a relatively cloudless day (for the Pacific Northwest) with clear sky to the south toward Oregon and Mount Hood and a unobstructed view of Mount Adams to the east and Mount Rainier to the north. the real highlight, however, is the gaping maw of MSH's crater and the steaming lava dome that has risen since the eruption in 1980. it's difficult to imagine that the eruption and subsequent landslide - the biggest in modern history - removed a chunk of the mountain that was almost as tall as the Empire State Building and, of course, many, many times more massive. you can't walk too close to the edge of the crater because of the dangerous snow cornice that slopes over the precipice. in fact, as we were summiting we passed a hiker who "almost shit herself" when she plunged through the snow up to her thigh on top. when she extracted herself from the hole she noticed nothing but eerily light-blue snow beneath her, meaning that below that snow there is light, and light means the only thing between that snow and the bottom of MSH's crater is 1000 feet of air. prudently, the steps made in the snow by other hikers were well off the edge.

success! standing near the cornice atop MSH

taking care NOT to stab each other or fall off the edge

not the ideal place to test if the snow is thick enough to handle your weight

the lava dome inside MSH's mile-wide crater

looking north toward Mount Rainier

looking east toward Mount Adams

down MSH

after spending some time on top of MSH, taking pictures and adding layers (you exert so much energy hiking up the glacier, you need only shorts, gaiters, and a light shell, but once you reach the top, the fact that you are standing on a snowfield quickly sets in) we headed back down the mountain in the only reasonable way - on our asses. since we didn't have skis (nor did two of us know how to ski at Dave's level of expertise) we followed the paths of other hikers and glissaded down the mountain in our snowpants.

Chach losing control

Chach regaining control

lava tube spelunking

there isn't too much to do once you've climbed MSH except relax, grab a bite to eat at Jack's Restaurant - the same place you purchase your climbing permit and log in and out of the climbing register, or find some local teenagers to booze with on a Friday or Saturday night. so, we set up camp near the trailhead and woke up on Sunday morning to hike the Ape Cave, a 2000 year-old lava tube that sits on the southwestern flank of MSH. the caves are self-guided in the off-season, so all you need is a good light source, sturdy boots, and time to kill as you clamber about in the pitch blackness over boulders and loose rock for about 3 miles. there were a surprising number of kids in the cave, as well as the odd cigarette butt and beer can, so we figured that the Ape Cave is not only a popular place for a family excurison, but also a prime spot for sordid teenage partying.

down into the Ape Cave

stumbling around without adequate light

a sinkhole about a quarter-way through the cave

if i was a geologist, i might think this was an interesting find

relaxing in the City of Roses

Portland is one of those cities that your crunchy, granola-eating, Phish-loving hippie friend from high school or college probably moved to after graduation. upon arrival, he (or she) probably settled down into a relatively unstressful job as a gearhead at a local bikeshop or a salesdude (or dudette) at REI; finally cast-off the trappings of their droll East Coast life and went Freegan; headed back to school at one of Portland's numerous educational institutions and is still working his (or her) way through health science courses; or decided that even Portland was too big a place to live and headed down south toward the Emerald Triangle to pick marijuana for a living. anyway you slice it, Portland is almost entirely ultra-liberal, independent, young, and very, very, very white. but we had a good time checking out the southeast corner of Portland (there you have your disaffected East coast hipsters who have carved a small community for themselves out of American Apparel stores, high-end organic restaurants, and bars that strictly serve microbrews) with our friend Dave.

as for next year? maybe we'll do Hood, Rainier, or Adams. anyone interested in skiing down one of them with us?

the mighty weekend warriors after conquering the mighty MSH

alert my next of kin

on Sunday May 18, 1980, a moderately-sized volcano in the Cascade Range called Mount St. Helens blew its lid, sending forth a pyroclastic surge that devastated everything in its path. the eruption was THE preeminent event for modern geologists Neocene-era North America; like the equivalent of a NYC socialite's coming-of-age party. that same day young Zain, your faithful author of peregrination, was propped up near a window sill gazing out at the Seattle suburbs when a light dusting off ash began to fall, turning my parents' late-70s model Toyota Celica from a shiny banana yellow to a dull smoky gray.

this Sunday on May 26, I will visit the site of that tremendous explosion and conquer nature by climbing up and standing on the crater's edge of Mount St. Helens. you can see what's currently going on at the mountain by checking out the VolcanoCam. as you can see (if you did indeed click on the link) there is quite a bit of snow on the lower edges of the mountain. therefore, our trusty climbing partner Dave will supply us with ice axes and spikes for the climb through the snow.

the National Park Service website suggests we bring climbing helmets or hard hats in the case of volcanic ballistics or rock fall. if you're thinking, "clearly, this mountain is still active. why are these idiots so intent on climbing it?" we say it's almost like a game of uphill geologic capture-the-flag, except instead of tagging you, the mountain could hurl giant superheated rocks in your direction.

here are some stock pictures of what Mount St. Helens looked like in the past:

supposedly idyllic in the 1970s

really angry in the 1980s

moody and grumbling in the 2000s

the best book you'll never read

if you enjoy: high-adventure, cultural exchanges, caravaning, hunting rabbits, geese, wild boars, and mountain goats, travelling with an amicable Swiss companion, dealing with Chinese customs agents, avoiding Bolshevik mercenaries, screaming at Turki animal handlers, haggling with Uighur bazaar merchants, crossing the Himalayas, or dining with English noblemen in the hill country of Kashmir, then by no means read News from Tartary by Peter Fleming - it's far too romantic, as 1930s travel novels go, and it will make you want to immediately quit your day job and cross the nearest desert you can find by caravan. of course, if your job involves any of the pleasures listed above, then by all means continue what you are doing - you're pretty much halfway there.

Fleming (pictured below) was refreshingly honest when writing about his travels, and was quite the antithesis of what was expected of an English gentleman of the 1930s (see Gosford Park for more detail on that.) Fleming was one of those people who was comfortable wherever he slept, satisfied with whatever he ate (more so when he hunted and cooked it for himself,) and relatively patient with the maddening bureaucracy that plagued travelers in China at that time. however, he was still embarassed to show up in the presence of British nobility in China or India without proper attire and he hauled a dinner jacket with him for 6 months across the vast Tibetan plateau. when the time came that he actually dinner clothing, he found the suit had been rotted through after one of his servants had accidentally dropped his pack while fording a river.

my question is, how can i convince someone to pay me to do something like this for a living? i would gladly sign on for such an expedition. it's a shame that the Golden Age of British exploration is over. nowadays the majority of people just armchair caravan with a few clicks on Google Earth.

and please - if someone can buy me the jacket that he is wearing in the picture, i'd be eternally grateful. don't worry, i have my own pipe.

back by popular demand: part two

the next part of our Swedish expedition took a peculiar turn. we knew that Stockholm was our final destination for the weekend, but which path would we take out of Göteborg? going back the way we came was out of the question because aside from the points of interest (POIs) along the side of that road, it wasn't a very exciting drive in the first place. we did manage a sneak preview of the quainter aspects of the Swedish countryside, and we caught sight of some impressive modern windmills that dot the landscape between Västerås and Göteborg. other than that, we needed some fresh sights and new POIs to maintain our interest as we headed toward Stockholm. we soon found both in the hunt for Bronze Age carvings along the Bohlusian coast.

little red men

we said goodbye to Hotel Vasa we drove north out of Göteborg along the coast. our first destination was a wildlife park in the Bohlusian hinterlands that supposedly had an interesting menagerie of Nordic wildlife, appropriately called the Nordic Ark. as it turned out, this Swedish "safari" would have taken a solid two hours out of our day, therefore we opted to miss the reindeer and arctic foxes and instead we walked along a sprawling, crystal-clear fjord for a little while before we found our first set of carvings.

the carvings were about a kilometer from the wildlife park, hidden under a cluster of trees. their location was marked by a "R" which signifies rune and points in the general direction of where the rock is located. the smooth granite on which these carvings lie blend into the landscape quite well, and it's only when you are practically on top of them that you see the intricate little shapes and figures that represents the history of a civilization 3000 years old. the carvings are shallow - no more than a milimeter or two deep - and have been painted red by the Swedish historical society that protects the carvings today.

most of the carvings depict warriors wielding long swords and shields and, interestingly enough, long phalluses (or is it phalli?) figures of women are rarely carved in the rock, except in the case of grief or disaster where they are shown to be kneeling and crying. one particularly famous carving, however, shows a man and a woman, naked, and kissing. this is generically named "The Kiss" but it shows that Bronze Age Scandinavians had no pretenses about carving lewd pictures on their rocks. who knows? maybe the archeaologists are wrong and the carvings don't represent the cultural story of these ancient people. instead, maybe some angst-ridden Bronze Age teens got together and decided to vandalize a bunch of local rock outcroppings. other depictions include boats, the sun, cups, and cute little whales. the smallest carvings are no more than an inch tall with the biggest being an early representation of Odin at over 2 meters tall.

megaskrov and megaslott

we reached our fill of carvings in the early afternoon and headed back to Stockholm through some rough country that skirted the Norweigan border. we made a few stops on the way; one, at a Swedish rest stop called Frasses that had clearly ripped off its menu from McDonalds. take a look at their website: that is a Big Mac clone on their homepage. but we didn't really care because the food was excellent (i recommend the Megaskrov) and they offered all sorts of tasty seasons and sauces for their fries, including one called Rhode Island Dressing, which is clone of Thousand Island. we also hit up a large slott (castle), something we'd been trying to find for three days, in the city of Örebro. Slott also happens to mean manor house in Swedish, and while manor houses are interesting, they don't inspire thoughts of rugged, hardy, medieval Swedes; a strong, stone castle, however, does.

the capital of Scandinavia

Reykjavik is too remote. Helsinki is too modern. Oslo is way too expensive. Copenhagen? too quaint. Stockholm, on the other hand, has what it takes to be the champion for all of Scandinavia. it's the biggest city in terms of population in all of Scandinavia, mixing old world history with sleek modernity, and small town charm with an ultra-hip social scene. it's accessible and efficient (although let us be honest; there are no inefficient Scandinavian cities) and it's a perfect destination from which to explore the rest of the region. in short, Stockholm is marvelous and it only took us three days to come to that conclusion.

the one glitch was that we didn't actually stay in Stockholm. Tobias booked a Scandic hotel through Orbitz that was supposed to be in the city center. unfortunately, Orbitz had the wrong address for the hotel and hence, the wrong map on its website. the Scandic Kungens Kurva was actually in a suburb called, surprise-surprise, Kungens Kurva, which is about 10 kilometers outside Stockholm. at first, we were a little disheartened, but our mood collectively improved after we discovered that the hotel had a pool and sauna as well as the most complete breakfast spread yet (complete with caviar paste.) there was also a large hotel bar and convenient access to the Stockholm Metro.

now, if you only have three days to spend in Stockholm like we did, how would you spend your time in the most efficient, Scandinavian way possible? we started, appropriately enough, in the Gamla Stan, which is the heart of the Stockholm and holds all of the major museums, palaces, and quaint, ochre-colored buildings that you expect to see when you go to an old city. it also had a bustling tourist-oriented street filled with tacky souvenir shops, overpriced speciality stores, and pushy restaurateurs looking to herd visitors into their establishments by the dozens. we hit the side streets instead and took pictures of the narrow alleyways, occasionally popping our heads into a shop selling old maps. on one such trip, we found a store that was absolutely filled with antiques and trinkets from the Soviet Union. you could by military and civilian medals by the hundreds, flags from the Red Army or Soviet Navy, guns, knives, swords, maps, binoculars, currency, (i bought an envelope filled with small denomination Uzbek sum, the likes of which i never saw in Uzbekistan) belts, hats, books, and postcards. this store also had a few items that were seemingly plundered from Nazi Germany by the Red Army during the Second World War, and were later purchased in Russia by the proprietor of this shop. among those items was a bust of Adolf Hitler, some Reichsmarks, and a few pairs of field glasses belongs to officers of the Wehrmacht, each chillingly engraved with the swastika.

beside the beautiful Stortorget (see the pics below) the coolest event in Gamla Stan was the changing of the royal guard at the Stockholm Palace. Chach equated it to a Monty Python sketch as the little blue-clad soldiers shuffled around the palace square. i thought it was quite well orchestrated as a new company of soldiers took the place of the old ones in a ritual that involved one of the best marching bands that i had ever seen. not only were they close to perfect with their performance, they played a few jazz tunes along with their traditional military reveille, much to the delight of the crowd.

another must-see is Stockholm's city hall. it was designed by a brilliant, but very fussy architect named Ragnar Östberg who constantly changed his mind about the design of the building. the hall is home to the famous Nobel Banquet and is held in the Blue Hall, which isn't actually blue because he decided near the end of construction that the red bricks were far more beautiful, and therefore he canceled the paint job. it also has a Golden Room, which actually is gold, and contains 1 million gold-painted titles that cover the walls and pillars. one of the reasons for his wishy-washy behavior might be attributed to the fact that he was a Swedish nationalist and he wanted everything to match and complement with ruthless Swedish efficiency. perhaps this is why it took 12 years to build. nonetheless, it is an astounding piece of architecture.

the last night we hit a very hip club named Berns to see one of Tobias' fave musicians, Bobby Bare Jr. most young people in Stockholm dress like they just walked out of an H&M and there was no exception at Berns. in fact, Bobby Bare Jr and his bandmates were probably the most casually dressed people there, along with Chach, Tobias and me. Bobby took swigs off bottles of Jack Daniels and Miller Lite in between rawkus rock n' roll songs and everyone was most pleased, especially the drunk hipster Swedes in the audience who got a little too excited and stole Bobby's tambourine. well, i don't think Bobby wasn't too pleased with that. like most city dwellers, Stockholmites (ites?) love to go out, when they do, they dress for it. there are practically no dive bars in Stockholm and most drinking establishments are either ultra-sleek or have some sort of interesting theme or decor. take Koh Phangan, for example; a Thai restaurant in the Södermalm district. the minute you walk in, you feel as if Thailand and Jamaica united as one country and decided to celebrate with a rave in college freshman dorm room. the decor is heavy on blacklights, Bob Marley posters, glow-in-the-dark tape, and tiki torches. reggae music blares through the thatch-roofed bar and benches in the dining are arranged over koi ponds and inside tuktuks. the food was top-notch - possibly the best and most unique Thai i've ever had. food critics use the word "transcendental" a lot. whatever that means, i think Koh Phangan hit it.

we left Stockholm on a snowy Monday - the only snow we had during the entire trip - and headed out to tour the Stockholm archipelago, which is a popular holiday destination for Swedes. we also headed to Sigtuna on our way to the airport and cursed ourselves for not finding this gem of a town sooner. it was filled with the ruins of ancient monasteries and castles, just waiting for some sturdy tourists to explore their grounds. after stomping around some ruins for about an hour, we headed back to Arlanda International Airport, said goodbye to our trusty Volvo, and waited anxiously for 5-star luxury to take us back across the pond.

one last highlight: we had absolutely crystal clear skies as we flew over Greenland, something that is rare as the North Atlantic is almost always obscured by some sort of cloud cover. Chach and i had some beautiful views from our window and i managed to snap a few photos at 40,000 feet of glaciers calving into their fjords. enjoy.

fjord near the Nordic Ark

our first set of carvings

a 40 foot Bronze Age carving at Tanumshede

a whale

a depiction of a stone ship setting ceremony

the home of the Tanumshede Rock Carvings - a UNESCO World Heritage Site

the Örebro Slott

Stockholm Gamla Stan

the changing of the guard at Stockholm Palace

how could you not want to live on this street?

or this one?

the most famous photo op in Stockholm at Stortorget

the Riddarholm

inside the Golden Room in the city hall, home of the Nobel Banquet

a medieval monastic fortress in Sigtuna

a glacier off the coast of Greenland

back by popular demand: part one

it's finals week, and my loyal contingent of law school friends demand something to read.

ask, and you shall receive.

Tobias, Chach, and i spent the first week of April touring Sweden. as usual, when i told people about our destination, i saw a lot of puzzled faces, inevitably followed by the question, "well, that's...interesting. why would you go to Sweden?"

why go to Sweden? the simple answer is, "why not?" the more complex explanation entails explaining to their inquisitive little heads the wonders and joys of travel at anytime of year to any destination. just because it isn't a particularly popular or well-known tourist spot for early April, it was still a fascinating journey. now, i wouldn't necessarily advocate mid-summer touring of Baghdad (maybe in a few years), or perhaps a sunbathing expedition to Brighton Beach in December, but there are plenty of places around the globe that are just as awesome to visit offseason as they are at peak season. i've written about a few of them already: Guatemala, Belize, and Iceland; the latter of which we went to in the dead of the Arctic winter and was one of my top five trips of all time.

now, practically speaking, the flights were cheap, it was Chach's spring break, and Tobias, our trusty new travelling partner, was looking for a vacation (he hadn't gone on one in, like, 5 years). so on April 3rd, after a fantastic 7 hour flight on Malaysia Airlines - one of only four 5-star airlines in the world - we landed at Arlanda International Airport, loaded up the old Volvo S40 Flexifuel, and headed out onto the open Scandinavian highway.*

*this isn't a figurative description. Sweden has a fine network of highways and byways that are very much devoid of major traffic outside the cities. Sweden is about the size of California, but with only about a quarter of the population.

Viking mounds and burial grounds

by the time we got to Uppsala, we were excited, but running on vapors, having not slept much on Malaysia Airlines. the problem with Malaysia is there was too much On Demand entertainment to take advantage of and too much unlimited red wine to drink. therefore, sleeping was not an option on the way over. i had way too many movies to catch up on.

we walked sleepily around the Viking burial mounds at Uppsala and casually explored the museum devoted to former inhabitants of the area. there isn't much left in the way of Viking artifacts or ruins. most are contained in the museum or were extracted from the mounds in the 18th century. the museum explains how the Vikings saw the world. they had a complex belief system that was rooted in Norse mythology and paganism, worshipping gods and giants like Odin, Vidar, Loki, or Freyr. of course, dying in battle was the ultimate honor for a Viking warrior, so they did a lot of pillaging and looting on their way through the British Isles, Eastern Europe, and even as far away as modern day Iraq. however, dying in battle wasn't good enough for Vikings. after being escorted into Valhalla - Odin's heavenly hall - by hot Valkyries (female shieldmaidens,) they will eat and booze it up for an eternity until Ragnarök, which in Viking eschatology is the mother-of-all-battles. and people wonder why it took hundreds of years to subdue the Vikings under Christian rule? who wants to go boring old Heaven when in the Viking afterlife you can drink mead out of bullhorns and eat mutton off the bone served by gorgeous Norse giantesses, and then are guaranteed one last chance to lop someones head off at the end of all things?

from Uppsala, we quickly made our way to Västerås, which is Sweden's sixth largest city, and found ourselves in the Klipper Hotel where we had a quick Thai meal, shopped for provisions for the first leg of our road trip, and quickly fell asleep for 12 hours.

runes, runes, runes, and problems pumping petrol

on the road to Göteborg, we made a group decision to stop at Points of Interest along the way and absorb some of the local culture, as well as stop at spots that were a little further removed from the normal tourist trails. our first big stop was at the Ramsund carving, which is an important depiction of the Volsunga saga and the story of Sigurd, a famous Norse folkhero.

in the midst of all this rune-hunting, i noticed that the gas in our tank had reached a perilously low level. we pulled into a rural Preem gas station and spent about 20 minutes awkwardly trying to figure out how to pay for and pump gas, since there wasn't an attendant in sight. we spied on some natives from the backseat of our Volvo and tried to copy their actions at the pump, but to no avail. finally, a young man pulled up to the station and started pumping gas. after he finished, i cautiously approached him and ask him in mangled Swedish, "Do you speak English?" to which he replied to me, in English, "What?" upon hearing that, i reaffirmed his "What" by saying, "oh, so you do speak English." his reply, of course, was, "of course!" i'm not sure why i was surprised. the Scandinavians (including Icelanders) have an uncanny handle on the English language. not only do they speak it fluently, but they often have a British or American accent when speaking it.

i recommend the lodging at the Hotel Vasa

if you have a chance to travel to Sweden, visiting Göteborg (pronounced in Swedish something like Yer-te-bair) should be a top priority on your places-to-see list. it has the biggest port in all of Scandinavia, a fantastic "continental" feel, and more shops, restaurants, bars, and museums than you can absorb in a mere three days. it's also one of the cheaper destinations in Sweden, which means a lot when you realize the dent Scandinavia puts on your credit card after a few days of travel. we checked into the Hotel Vasa, after fruitless attempts to find a cheap and conveniently located hotel anywhere else. not only was the staff helpful and friendly, but they had a sauna and steambath on the premise, parking, and a fantastic breakfast spread complete with my new favorite breakfast item, caviar paste. this delectable breakfast spread comes in what resembles a toothpaste tube, from which you squeeze the contents on to toast, bread, or hard crackers. if anyone has any idea of where to find this stuff in NYC, please comment immediately. and according to a study i just online, it's also pretty good for you. so, recap: caviar paste made from cod. it's orange. smells very fishy. amazing on crackers.

we all live on a Scandinavian submarine

Göteborg was one big highlight reel. (it wasn't that the rest of the trip was average or even dull by comparison, but after Day Two in this lovely maritime city, we were hard pressed to think even Stockholm could be as impressive a place. far from ruining a big surprise, those thoughts were quickly negated.) we woke up early for a quick breakfast of caviar paste, fresh rolls and assorted cheeses for me, and the same thing minus the paste for Chach and Tobias, and headed directly to the Maritiman, which is Göteborg's fantastic outdoor ship museum. we spent the next three or four hours crawling around the holds of several large cargo ships and tugboats, manning the helms of some coastal patrol boats, and exploring the depths of the Smaland destroyer, a Swedish naval vessel that looks formidable, but i doubt ever fired a shot in anger during its service. by far the most interesting ship was the submarine Nordkaparen. i had never been inside a submarine before and i quickly understood why the maximum height of its crew can't be more than 5'9. Tobias, Chach, and i would not have made a good crew with the cramped wire bunks, the one-and-a-half foot diameter passageways that connect the ship, and the fact that there were no vegetarian options on the galley menu.

we smelled the metal in our noses and on our hands for the rest of the afternoon after climbing up and down ladders and opening hatches on the ships all morning. but, it soon dissapated upon dinnertime where we dined at Smaka; an upscale Göteborg restaurant that offers a variety of traditional Swedish comfort food. i had smoked reindeer on dark rye bread topped with fresh salmon roe as an appetizer; it's best described as the closest thing to swedish sushi. Tobias had a red onion and tomato salad, which seems to be a popular starter above the 50 degrees north. i'm not sure why this dish has persisted in northern climes throughout the years considering tomatoes are only in season in the spring and early summer. while it was a light start, Tobias redeemed himself by ordering the quintessential Swedish dish, meatballs with mashed potatoes and lingonberries. i asked for the homemade blackpudding with fried pork and lingonberries, to which upon my request the waiter looked at me with a bemused smile and ask, "you know what that is right?" i nodded in serious affirmation and he smiled again, complimenting me on my choice (or my bravery.) if you aren't sure what blackpudding is, it's basically animal blood cooked with a filler such as barley, oatmeal, or bread until it congeals. you can also add meat as a filler to make the pudding more sausage-like. while it sounds disgusting, it is quite flavorful because of the spices that they add while cooking. Chach didn't partake in this meatfest (traditional Scandinavian cuisine is not very veggie-friendly) so we stuffed her with some street falafel before dinner and then she had dessert at the restaurant. i can't excatly recall what she had, but it was delicious and the lingonberries surprised us all by really complementing every dish we ate; from pork, to meatballs, to the black pudding.

and for the record, Chach's falafel was slightly above average. the lack of eggplant as a garnish is a big turnoff, in Chach's opinion.

middle ages runestone carving in Uppsala

a gorgeous afternoon in Uppsala

quaint Västerås

Sigurd's saga at Ramsund

Zain at Ramsund

a mortal blow to Sigurd's enemy. ie, a loss of his head

Sigurd's mighty steed

quaint Sweden

gas problems

a small Swedish stonehenge

downtown Göteborg

manning the patrol boat

all ahead full

right full rudder

Sweden's defense against Norweigan inflitrators

shells aboard the Smaland destroyer

Chach in the sub

two jolly submariners

the Maritiman museum

our little sub that could

resistance is futile

most solicitors of faith don't look at me as a very attractive target for conversion. with my arabic name and dark, rugged, good looks; christian missionaries generally consider me as unsaveable. rabbis accost me once in awhile and ask if i'm jewish (like the hasidic at Vostok in Boro Park last weekend) but when i confess my w.a.s.p-y/paki background, they often just pat me on the shoulder and quickly excuse themselves. i'm really fascinated by buddhists, but the monks i see are few and far between in NYC and are usually surrounded by a gaggle of college students from NYU. mormons elders are just about everywhere, and i sometimes hit them up for conversation when i'm bored, but they normally just point me in the direction of a local temple and then look for a more wretched soul to save.

however, i've come to the conclusion that just about every muslim from Minneapolis to Medina is trying to convert me to Islam.

this morning as i was checking my email i received a message from Arshad Mahmood. i have no clue who Arshad is, but he sent me a powerpoint and in the subject line of the email was "1 Minute for Allah." the message wasn't traditional spam in the sense that someone named Shahid Iqbal (no relation) forwarded it to Nadeem Yousef, Nadeem forwarded it to a person named "Mo" ( most likely a Mohammed) and Mo forwarded it to Arshad. so, it was more like a chain letter; like spam, equally despicable.

so, i scanned the powerpoint for viruses and opened it up. i won't go into detail, but the general message was that i should open up to Allah and accept him into my heart; oh, and by the way, here is a list of some of the more severe consequences if i don't. (by the way, if anyone is interested in looking at the presentation, contact me and i'll gladly send it along.) and the twangy arabic music playing in the background of the slide show really complemented the overall message of "convert or perish."

a few months before this incident, i was in a car service coming home late from work on night and the driver kept eyeing me through the rearview mirror as i was talking to my mom on my cell in the backseat. i hung up the phone when we were about five minutes from my apartment and again the driver eyed me in the rearview and exclaimed, "ZAIN. GOOD MUSLIM NAME. " i was a little flummoxed as to how he actually knew my name, until he told me that he had both my first and last name in his computer for the pick up. he went on to question me about my background:

"did your parents have an arranged marriage in Pakistan?" no? but your parents are both Pakistani, yes? no?!? then where is your mother from? (he immediately assumed that my mother was not a Paki married to an American; granted, he was right) your mother is from the Midwest? then your mother converted to islam? NO? then your father raised you as a muslim? NO?!? then what are you??"

i told him that for all intents and purposes i was an atheist, but i found many religions and philosophies - such as Buddhism, Taoism, or Anton LeVayan Satanism - to be interesting in their own rights. this was NOT a satisfying answer for him. on one hand, he was appalled that my father did not instill a sense of muslim brotherhood into me at a young age. but on the other hand, he wasn't surprised as went on to explain that my mother's "judeo-christian" values probably dominated (read: corrupted) my chances at a healthy islamic upbringing. for about 30 minutes we argued over these points in the car at the curb of my apartment. overcome by hunger, i told him that i would take his words into consideration and start to make my way out of the cab. just as i opened the door, he grabbed a hold of my shirt and said. "brother! there are muslim centers everywhere! go to one, ask for a Qur'an and read it with an OPEN HEART!" funny. you never hear any of these people, whether they be christian, muslim, or jewish, say "read it with an OPEN MIND." or maybe that's just me.