Sherrill and I visited more than 60 countries and most of the United States during our 52 years of marriage. This is number 35 of a series about our lives and travels. If you scroll down, you'll come to earlier posts in this series. To start at the beginning of our marriage look at the Archives list in the sidebar and start with May, 2017. Older posts you'll find below that are a previous series about later travels.
When Sherrill and I crossed the border from the gray and gloomy Soviet bloc into Scandinavia in 1989, the contrasting prosperity we found dazzled us. Helsinki may have been small for a capital city, but was clean and cheerful after the drab, crumbling cities we'd just visited. The bright colors along its waterfront, the luscious fruits and vegetables at the farmers' markets, and the well-stocked department stores were so different that we might have wandered into an MGM musical comedy and wouldn't have been too surprised if Gene Kelly and Cyd Charisse had started dancing among the vegetables.
Today, Helsinki is considered one of the world's most livable cities, but even in 1989 its beauty, stretching from the tip of a forested green peninsula across several green islands, was seductive and when we tried the seafood that it was known for we almost were ready to stay—not that we would've wanted to cope with its winters. We heard part of a rehearsal for a Sibelius concert in the dramatically modern Finlandia Hall, peered in at a couple of domed Russian Orthodox churches, and looked into several pricy shops, pretending that we might buy a suede coat, some fancy crystal, or Marimekko fabrics. The dramatic monument built to honor Sibelius impressed us: the 600 steel pipes welded together in a wave-like pattern were supposed to capture the essence of his music. Whether or not they did might be a matter of opinion, but we liked it. His shining metallic face posed next to it seemed to approve.
Today, Helsinki is considered one of the world's most livable cities, but even in 1989 its beauty, stretching from the tip of a forested green peninsula across several green islands, was seductive and when we tried the seafood that it was known for we almost were ready to stay—not that we would've wanted to cope with its winters. We heard part of a rehearsal for a Sibelius concert in the dramatically modern Finlandia Hall, peered in at a couple of domed Russian Orthodox churches, and looked into several pricy shops, pretending that we might buy a suede coat, some fancy crystal, or Marimekko fabrics. The dramatic monument built to honor Sibelius impressed us: the 600 steel pipes welded together in a wave-like pattern were supposed to capture the essence of his music. Whether or not they did might be a matter of opinion, but we liked it. His shining metallic face posed next to it seemed to approve.
 Sherrill with Sibelius Portrait Statue, Helsinki |  Bruce with Sibelius Monument, Helsinki |
"This place is wonderful, it's clean and beautiful," Sherrill told me at the end of our third day in Helsinki, before we boarded an overnight Silja Line ferry to Stockholm, "but something's missing."
"Maybe it's too perfect."
"Maybe that's it."
We weren't being perverse—I don't think we were—but just as I preferred Dostoyevsky to Tolstoy and Dickens to Austen, the impoverished grunginess of Warsaw and Prague were more my style than this squeaky clean perfection. Of course, we weren't in Helsinki long enough to discover its underside, if it had one, but part of the appeal for me of London, New York, and even San Francisco was that it was all there in the open, like it or not: splat! Sherrill wouldn't go that far, but agreed that endless perfection could be pretty dull.
"Maybe it's too perfect."
"Maybe that's it."
We weren't being perverse—I don't think we were—but just as I preferred Dostoyevsky to Tolstoy and Dickens to Austen, the impoverished grunginess of Warsaw and Prague were more my style than this squeaky clean perfection. Of course, we weren't in Helsinki long enough to discover its underside, if it had one, but part of the appeal for me of London, New York, and even San Francisco was that it was all there in the open, like it or not: splat! Sherrill wouldn't go that far, but agreed that endless perfection could be pretty dull.
Sherrill & Bruce on Ferry to Sweden The trip across the Gulf of Finland to Stockholm turned out to be a grander experience than we'd expected. The ferry was surprisingly large and our room for the overnight trip was attractive and comfortable, but it was the vast breakfast buffet featuring platters of herring and smoked salmon that overwhelmed us. Scandinavia might prove to be boringly perfect, but we'd put up with it for meals like this.
Larger and more spectacular than Helsinki, Stockholm was scattered across what seemed to be countless islands, large and small.
"Water everywhere!" I pointed out to Sherrill, as we docked.
"I noticed," she countered.
Larger and more spectacular than Helsinki, Stockholm was scattered across what seemed to be countless islands, large and small.
"Water everywhere!" I pointed out to Sherrill, as we docked.
"I noticed," she countered.
Stockholm wasn't easy to explore, but it was fun watching Sherrill's pleasure as we took a boat tour among the islands, under bridges, through narrow channels and canals, passing dockyards, quayside boulevards, castles, and parks—getting a sense of the city that we couldn't have any other way. We discovered more museums in the city than we possibly had time for, but did give serious attention, at least, to the huge National Museum. As always, whenever we found a Rembrandt in a museum, we sent a postcard with a photograph of the painting we'd seen to our friend, the president of the Berkeley Rembrandt Society. We'd hoped to visit the new museum where the Vasa, a recently found and restored 17th century Swedish sailing ship, was to be displayed, but that museum wouldn't open for several months, yet.
Sherrill in Old Town, Stockholm Sherrill's fascination with architecture had continued since the days when she dreamed of designing buildings herself, so we couldn't miss Stockholm's famous City Hall, a stylishly modern red brick building on the shore of one of the islands, with an elegant brick tower rising above it. We walked through many of its spacious rooms, including the golden hall where the Nobel Prize banquet was held. However, I enjoyed even more wandering through the narrow streets and oddly shaped squares of Stockholm's old town. Each building reflected the taste of the era when it was built, an architectural smorgasbord. And, of course, we indulged in real smorgasbord whenever we had a chance.
Often, when we traveled in Europe, we were reminded of how short the distances were between cities and even countries. Somehow, this seemed more civilized than the vast spaces we had to cope with here. When we left Stockholm, a leisurely ferry ride took us to Copenhagen, another smallish, civilized capital city. Or was it so civilized? At least, it wasn't boring.
Old Copenhagen After all this traveling, I looked forward to an evening sauna at our hotel, however I was informed that the sauna was only for cold weather. Instead, I went for a walk, past the famous 19th century amusement park, the Tivoli Gardens. Much of the city, Sherrill and I discovered during the next days, was quite beautiful, but that evening I was surprised to find that the area near the Tivoli Gardens was both grungy and raunchy, with cheap hotels and porn shops advertising their wares with graphic posters and even neon signs in their windows. Well-dressed men, as well as disreputable-looking people, wandered in and out of the shops and hotels. Who would've thought that Copenhagen had the seamy, scuzzy side that we didn't see in Helsinki? The area reminded me of San Francisco's Tenderloin, which also is near high-priced respectable neighborhoods.
The next evening, after a day exploring Copenhagen, Sherrill and I wandered through Tivoli Gardens, which still had a turn-of-the-twentieth-century feel to it. We might have stepped into a old movie as we strolled past the old-fashioned carousel, the 1914 roller coaster, a lake with rowboats to rent, and a fun house, among other attractions, all of it illuminated by thousands of light bulbs. Teenagers, families with young children, and old folks all seemed to be enjoying themselves in this delightfully quaint place.
The next evening, after a day exploring Copenhagen, Sherrill and I wandered through Tivoli Gardens, which still had a turn-of-the-twentieth-century feel to it. We might have stepped into a old movie as we strolled past the old-fashioned carousel, the 1914 roller coaster, a lake with rowboats to rent, and a fun house, among other attractions, all of it illuminated by thousands of light bulbs. Teenagers, families with young children, and old folks all seemed to be enjoying themselves in this delightfully quaint place.
Denmark may be a small country, more water than land, but it seemed to have more than its share of palaces and castles. We were losing our enthusiasm for palaces, but did locate the statue of Hans Christian Anderson's Little Mermaid, poised on her rock at the edge of the harbor—we knew that somebody back home would be sure to ask if we'd seen her. More exciting, however, was the Viking Museum in Roskilde, a short train ride from Copenhagen, where we saw the surprisingly intact remains of an original Viking boat that had been buried for centuries. Nearby, reconstructions sailed in the bay.
Bruce with Viking Boat, Denmark Leaving Copenhagen the next morning, we drove past green Jutland farms to Esbjerg, where we boarded another ferry to cross the North Sea to England for our Pan Am flight back to San Francisco. To our surprise, somebody called out that we were passing Elsinore castle, where that famous Dane Hamlet bemoaned his fate so eloquently.
"We could've gone there, had a tour, explored it!" I moaned.
"You can't do everything, sweetie." She patted my cheek. "Next time...."
Wherever we were, sooner or later, one of us talked about "next time."
To be continued....
"We could've gone there, had a tour, explored it!" I moaned.
"You can't do everything, sweetie." She patted my cheek. "Next time...."
Wherever we were, sooner or later, one of us talked about "next time."
To be continued....
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