You can't get there from here

There are no ships that go from Stockholm to Lithuania. Nope. They go all points north and south, but not to Lithuania. I’m beginning to wonder if there isn’t a reason… Who knew that Latvia was the place to go?

The ship is called Romantika and all announcements are made in Swedish, English (sort of), and Latvian. All of a sudden, signs are in Cyrillic and Roman characters and in about five languages. Want to know how to tell the difference between the Swedes and the Latvians? Ask them. Want to know another way? The Swedes (at least the women) are usually in black leggings, or jeans that are basically leggings. And everyone else is Latvian.

Except for my roommates. One is Lithuanian, and was surprised that I would be going there, too. (Again, what the hell? Why is going there so unusual? Should I grab a switchblade? Or will I just be spending a lot of time twiddling my thumbs and staring at trees?) And the other roommate is something Russian-ish, but not anything that the other one speaks. The rare sentences we’ve spoken to each other have all been in English.

It’s possible that I am one of only four non-blonds on the ship. And one of the others is the six-foot dog(?) mascot of the Tallink Silja Lines who is running around in a blue skirt, curtseying and taking photos with people against their will.

The sign on the back of the door has a safety diagram and we are assigned to assembly station D. The map is labeled with the following areas: 1, B, C, and 4. Awesome.

I love that I’m taking the boat over to Lithuania (via Latvia). I will be very literally, just off the boat. Not that this is similar to any boat my relatives took to get to the States because there is a casino and bars and dance clubs. And even with my cheapest possible ticket, I am allowed to go to all these places.

Still, when I’m down in my room on the lowest level people can go, I can sense some echoes. First, it smells. (Okay, it smells like feet and not like waste or vomit.) Second, there are no windows and it’s a small space. (But there are only three of us in the room, a room with beds and linens. And a TV. And my laptop is plugged in. By the mirror. Though we do suffer from a lack wireless internet down here.) So like I said, it’s totally similar.

But then there’s the rumbling. The engines are a loud bass and add an extra rumbling vibration to the swaying of the ship, which intensifies as you descend the decks. I won’t say the T word, but the sound is familiar from that film with Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet. Still, there’s no Irish dancing down here, so I think we’re okay.

It took a couple hours to get out of the archipelago off Stockholm. Yesterday, I earned some nice tan lines from my V-neck t-shirt on a day trip around the archipelago of islands on the S/S Stockholm from 1903, retrofitted with a snack bar and formal restaurant, because god forbid we take a three-hour tour without full refreshments. Okay, go ahead, sing it with me: “A three hour tour… a three hour tour…”

The (Swedish) guide on the tour lectured in Swedish and then repeated in English, in the kind of sing-songy, over-enunciated way people speak when they’ve said the same shpiel a number of times and they suspect those listening may not speak the language. Imagine the Swedish chef as an English-language tour guide. The best was when she would forget to repeat in English. For example, we passed the Island of Denmark (next to the Island of Sweden, the old boundary to where Sweden’s territory began), and she said, “Now, you would probably think that the island got its name from the time that Denmark and Sweden were at war, fighting over territory and claiming land.” The end. She explained in Swedish, and then moved on.

So I’ve made up the rest of the story myself: The Swedish must’ve been huge fans of Hamlet. They were such huge fans of Shakespeare’s story that they wanted to stage a version of it. However, so great was their admiration that a theatre wouldn’t do. Neither would an outdoor amphitheatre. The scope of their production couldn’t be contained by one small island. If they were going to have a Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, then their prince needed a Denmark. And that’s how the island was named. Before then, it was just called Archie.

But the low down on the area and the history (the real history) of the islands was great. And necessary – because after a while, all the islands start looking alike. They all have lots of trees, mostly pine. Beautiful summer houses spot the landscapes, different sizes, carved Swedish folk designs on the porches. Docks nearby. All very charming and pretty. And then there are lots more islands… with lots more rocks and trees.

And people stood with video cameras rolling. I feel sorry for the people back home who will be made to watch these boring, boring videos of endless water and trees. The same view, seemingly on a loop. Again, on the deck of this ship, there were people (okay, it’s really always men) shooting endless streams of the same (different, but the same) view on our ship’s way out to the Baltic Sea. Finally, after two hours of the same, the islands became small, low and almost bare for a few minutes, and then there was nothing but water on all sides.

I caught the change (a sea change, if you will) from the window of the café I sat in, glutting myself on free internet after having almost no access in Stockholm. What’s that you ask? Do I think it’s strange that I have easier access to the internet in the middle of the Baltic Sea than I did in Stockholm? Why no, I don’t think that’s strange at all. What I do think is strange was the Latvian man who walked by me wearing pleated denim shorts and a white t-shirt. The shirt had a pick-up truck waving the Dixie flag and the words, “Truck is Better.”

We arrive at eleven tomorrow morning. And then, the bus to Vilnius.