Sunday, September 24, 2006
On this day:

Chance encounters in rural Sweden

12:49 am: Waiting for the last bus to Karlstad at Kristinehamn station when a tattooed guy in his early 20s races up on a mountain bike. He begins a frantic explanation in Swedish, before I interrupt in English with, 'I'm sorry I don't speak Swedish." The young man is surprised but continues in English: "Have you seen a girl with blonde hair, she might have an upset face?" I say "no, sorry I haven't. "I've had a row with my girlfriend and she walked off," he explains. "So she hasn't been here? That's good."
After reflecting a moment, he asks, "What are you doing here?" "Waiting for the bus to Karlstad" "Yes, but what are you doing in Sweden?" "I am a journalist, I am here for work." "Really? That's cool. I am a sound engineer." "What, like a studio engineer?" "Yeah, I have been doing a show with a band tonight." "Wow." "Well, I'd better keep looking for my girlfriend." "Good luck. If I see her, I'll tell her you're looking for her." "Ok, thanks, have a good time in Sweden."
1:07 am: The bus arrives, it is two minutes late. After boarding, the driver begins saying something in Swedish. Again I apologize for not speaking the language. Switching to English, he repeats his apology for being a couple of minutes late: "There is a problem with the back door."
Some minutes into the journey, after the only other passenger has got off, the driver asks: "Are you British or American?" "British", says I. "I am going to England tomorrow. To Frimley, in the South." "Oh yes, Frimley. In Surrey.""Do you know the Cheddows?" "I'm sorry?" "The Cheddows? Hank Marvin?" "Oh, The Shadows, yes, yes."
"I go to England every year at this time - to Shadow Mania," the driver proudly explains. "Aha." A pause. My trump card. "I used to know a guy who played in a band with Jet Harris." "Sorry, I didn't hear, the engine is very noisy." I stand and say louder, "I used to know a guy who played in a band with Jet Harris." "Oh, yes, ok, Jet Harris."
After 20 minutes of silence we reach Karlstad. We pull into the station. 'Goodnight," says the driver. "Tak, goodbye, enjoy Shadow Mania," I respond. He grins and drives off into the bus depot as I walk the few hundred metres to my hotel.

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