Changing trains in Arvika

We'd had a change of room at the Good Morning Hotel in Karlstad, due to resurfacing operations just below our original room at bedtime. It was actually quite interesting to watch the modern construction vehicles, the scraper truck equipped with a cockpit-like cabin including two computer screens and many switches and levers. But noisy, even in the quieter room at the back of the building, and we could smell the tar.

On the 16th of May, we were going to take an after breakfast train from Karlstad to Arvika, spend a couple of hours looking round this last of the Swedish towns on our itinerary and then catch the lunch hour express from there to Oslo across the border, arriving mid-afternoon. It promised to be a sunny day.

The first part of the day went according to plan, although I limped to the station with my back hurting, leaning on my suitcase.

Edane, view from the station

We had lovely views on the ride, on a train that stopped by blue, sparkling lakes, at Edane for example, before we reached Arvika. The Värmland province is Sweden's cottage country, doubtless a magnet to wealthy Stockholmers when the summer season starts. The scenery wasn't as flat as it had been further east, and Arvika is built on a hill overlooking a fairly large lake, Sweden's only inland fjord. On our arrival, we crossed the tracks and went to sit beside the lake first, I not being up to much walking. Then on the other side of the tracks across the station square we found a first rate Espresso House where we bought a light lunch. The little town was peaceful on that day. It's the kind of town where arts and music festivals take place. There's a music college here. Pedestrian streets of course, with trees. One of the older buildings had an eye-catching mural.

Espresso House, Arvika

Kommunhuset, Arvika

Returning to the station for our connecting train coming in from Stockholm we were at first dismayed to discover it was delayed (labelled fel tåg = faulty train ... fel means error, failure, etc.) by a couple of hours. In case we'd misunderstood the announcement on the board, I looked for an information office where we could make sure, only finding an AVIS car rental desk, but that was good enough. The AVIS lady was able to look up the train's status and confirmed the delay. I asked if there was somewhere where we could leave our luggage—she told us to go to the taxi office at the other side of the building, where for a fee they took care of it. Everyone speaks English, no problem.

Trefaldighetskyrkan, outside

Panel on the pulpit

So now we had more time to explore Arvika, not a great disappointment. Maybe it would have been better for me to sit still and rest my back, but curiosity got the better of me. I made it up the hill to the yellow walled school (Solbergagymnasiet) and the Trefaldighetskyrkan (built 1911), the Trinity Church: a pretty, whitewashed one with a spire. Inside, the National Romantic style of its artwork was worth seeing. Chris stayed on a bench outside in the blazing sun, getting sunburnt and listening to the birds, while I discovered the domed altar, surrounded with frescoes painted by an artist called Björn Ahlgrensson. Paintings were on the sides of the pulpit too, telling mysterious, ecumenical, didactic tales.

Trefaldighetskyrkan, inside

Back to the station, via another very attractive tea and coffee place, to see if the Oslo train announcement had altered. In fact the delay had lengthened, so we wandered back to the city park (Stadsparken) we'd found at the bottom of the hill, with its large pond and fountain, a miniature "train" going round it. We sat on a bench in the shade for ages, watching a pair of Arctic terns seemingly enjoying their aerobatics, screeching and plunging beak first into the water, dive-bombing the fish.

Stadsparken, Arvika

At last the train arrived. A young woman with her mother, a lap dog and a baby had put bags on our reserved seats so, not wanting to disturb her, we sat in empty, backward facing ones across the aisle. The baby behaved very well. On this two hour stretch of the journey the windows were grubby, so I took no photos but still appreciated the views of hilly fields and forests and read my book (The Bone People, about peculiar New Zealanders). We went through tunnels crossed the border with absolutely no hint of formality other than a "Velkommen til Norge!" announcement over the speakers, no passport check, and then we were following an impressively wide river, the Glomma, round its bends to the southwest. Logs used to be floated down it, as on the Canadian rivers. We reached Oslo three hours late.

Klev på fel tåg!

Setting off

That means "got on the wrong train" and it happened in Västerås. My ticket printout said Eskilstuna C - Västerås C eller omvänt ..., meaning Estkilstuna Central to Västerås or vice versa, ...1 Pensionär, senior, which I thought would be easy to manage. My outbound journey was fine, no problem.

At Västerås Central station

The return trains left from platform 5, but so did the trains to Örebrö and places west; I boarded one of those instead, without paying attention, and headed rapidly off in the wrong direction. A friendly ticket collector called Lena put me right, scribbling Klev på fel tåg on my ticket in case of trouble, and telling me to get out at the next stop (Köping), take the Stockholm-bound train back to Västerås from the other side of the platform, and start again an hour later. Don't get on the wrong train again! she said, laughing at me. I didn't have to pay an extra fee for my mistake and it was a pretty ride all the way, the scenery through the windows familiarly northern.

In Eskilstuna, first impressions and two suppers

The hotel where we're staying is across the road from the station, so if I sit at a window table for breakfast, as I did today, I can watch the commuters arriving by train or by bus---either a Biogasbuss or one with drivmedel: 100 % förnybar el---across the station square. Apart from Sweden's environment friendliness, almost everyone wears sports shoes here and you rarely encounter someone who's overweight; it's quite remarkable, especially as the meals from Eskilstuna's eateries seem quite heavy and greasy, served in large portions. Yesterday, in cool but sunny weather, Chris and I walked and walked round the town, largely deserted because it was a Sunday with the shops closed: exercise enough for us. We peered through the windows of some large gym clubs full of exercise machines. People were walking, jogging and cycling through the city parks. Same thing in Stockholm, though there you have the added option of renting one of the electric scooters available for pick-up on almost every street corner. All you need is the app. on your smartphone to set it going.

Pretending to scoot, in Stockholm

Eskilstuna is just over an hour's ride on the train from Stockholm. Buying the tickets, we'd treated ourselves to 1st class seats, but when the actual train pulled in we couldn't find our allotted carriage so travelled 2nd class instead. It was old with grubby windows, maybe a replacement train; we enjoyed the late afternoon ride even so, through urban territory as far as Södertälje where (a year ago) Chris met employees of Scania AB, and then through rocky, forested landscape with occasional lakes or grassy fields, similar to Ontario. I caught a glimpse of Eskilstuna's riverfront as we pulled into this town and felt that this would be a very pleasant spot to spend the week. Sure enough, it is pleasant. The light in the sky on that first evening, after our supper at the sumptuous Lebanese Meze Lounge on Drotninggatan, was delightful, falling on the colourful houses that line the Eskiltunaån River in the older part of town.

Chris by the river at Eskilstuna, on our first evening here

While we waited for our supper we'd been interested in the party taking place at one side of the restaurant, maybe a special birthday or anniversary, with balloons and speeches, the attendees smartly dressed and on their best behaviour. At one point they sang a congratulatory song  to whomever they were celebrating---Ja må han leva!

Yesterday (Sunday) evening we had supper at the Bishop's Arms; it seemed an authentic copy of an English pub, complete with a quiz night in which we could almost have taken part, had we been more daring or better at guessing what was said. The questions read out over the microphone by the quiz master had multiple choice answers. Groups of anglophones in the pub, who understood enough Swedish to participate, were enjoying this, giving one another spontaneous translations. In spite of the English atmosphere I was able to order a Czech beer and a typical Swedish dish, råraka, a deep fried potato pancake garnished with loganberries, sourcream, parsley and gherkins.