After an uneventful flight from Malaga in southern Spain where I had spent a delightful four days in the company of an old school friend, Richard T (to be mentioned later on this site), I landed at Arlanda, Stockholm’s main airport, heavily laden with two bags (combined weight 80lbs) and my electronics-laden backpack.
First task was to secure a Comviq sim card for my unlocked iPhone so I could call internationally cheaply, and most importantly, use the phone as a hotspot for my laptop. Cellular service is ridiculously good in Sweden and a 10 GB package, which should last at least a month, plus very cheap international calling, cost me about $40 at the 7-11 store inside the main terminal. Result! All I had to do was insert the sim card and activate it with the code written on the receipt, according to the nice Swedish lady at the cash registe. Turns out it wasn’t quite that simple. But more of that later.
It was absolute Sisyphean task getting my bags off the Hertz rental bus and into their reception, but my exhaustion was tempered somewhat by the news that I was getting a free upgrade from the manual subcompact I had paid for (about 30 euros per day), to a spacious silver Volvo station wagon. This is a terrific car, fast and roomy and powerful, although also possessed of the quirks so particular to this marque and probably Swedish cars in general. My first clue came about five minutes after I got on the freeway, when the radio would periodically give way to a gentle alarm that lasted for just a second or so. Looking at the odometer, I saw an electronic speed limit sign appear and disappear. I soon realized that the car came equipped with a sensor that linked to the speed limit signs along the highway and adjusted its warnings accordingly. Oh, those clever Swedes!
Forty minutes later I was in Vasteras, a mid-sized town towards the eastern end of Lake Malaren. Mia had warned me ahead of time about Sweden being very much a do-it-yourself culture and I discovered this first-hand arriving at my hotel after 6pm, when all the staff go home. There were detailed instructions in my confirmation email about how to insert a code to open the front door, and where to find the key safe, and what combination it took, in order to access my room. Foolishly I had swapped out the SIM card, although I didn’t have the little pointy doohickey that you need to prise it out, but I managed it with the help of an Iranian couple in a nearby corner store, who lend me a needle. Next problem: for some reason I couldn’t activate the phone. The opening screen kept asking me to access a wifi network and I went round in circles trying the exit, without luck. So I decided to head to hotel and do it there. But now I no longer had the needle so I couldn’t put the old sim card back in so I couldn’t read the email from the hotel on how to get in. I found a local corner shop full of young, beautiful tech-savvy Swedes but after asking 2-3 people they couldn’t help me either. Deep breath. Then I made a breakthrough. The coffee shop must have toothpicks. With that I could prise out my new, non functional SIM card, insert the old one, get instructions on how to get to my hotel room and figure it all out from the comfort of my hotel room. So that’s what I did. Not only that, I discovered that the default opening screen for Comviq SIM cards is to choose a wifi network to register the phone. After that it was simple.
By now it was 8.30pm and still light, as usual in Sweden in June. So I took another deep breath, jumped in the car and navigated five minutes to the deserted Gullberg’s marina on the shore of Lake Malaren where Arcturus was stored on the hard. Five minutes later, walking round a corner, I saw her. She was unmistakeable. I pried open the back of her cover and took a picture. Walked around, had a look at the hull and thru hulls. I then took several very deep, long breaths. I finally was with my boat. This was really happening….
