Copenhagen, episode 10. In which Karen Blixen had a farm in Africa.

The beautiful home in the background of Mari's selfie of us in our (almost) matchy-matchy shirts has tremendous historic, literary, and (of course) personal significance, all of which I shall dive heartily into today as part of my final Copenhagen episode in which we are finally back in Copenhagen after our Baltic cruise adventures. I am quite a bit sad to be leaving Copenhagen behind, just as I was on that postcard perfect day back in July of 2017. Our final full day in Copenhagen will long live in my storied memory as one of the most favorite days of my life.

Allow me to storytell.

I will never forget the first (of many, many) times I watched Out of Africa. My many-splendored story necessarily includes two wonderful friends, one of whom did not actually watch the movie with us, but more on Miss Coni later because she is categorically central to the epic adventure of two college friends and major movie buffs trekking to see Out of Africa for the first time.

I knew Ted and I would be good friends when he first moved in across the hall from The Wicker Lounge in August of 1985, my sophomore (his freshman) year. His wonderfully warm mom gave me a hug when she first met me as Ted's family dropped off its oldest son for his first year of college and, before returning to Kansas a few days later, gave me another wonderfully warm hug and asked me to look after her son. When Ted later told me that his Midwestern mother refused to allow a microwave oven in her house, he cemented our kinship and we became even faster friends. Our eventual extended study-avoidance discussions about movies clinched the deal.

I was a great admirer of Ted's cinema knowledge and of his own personal acting and singing talents and Marissa and I are eternally grateful to him for singing so beautifully at our wedding. I don't remember whose idea it was to trek to the theaters at the mall formerly known as Scottsdale in south South Bend, but I know we were both excited to see Out of Africa upon its Oscar re-release sometime in late February of 1986.

Late February in South Bend means winter (sometimes late April in South Bend means winter) and neither of us moviegoing dorm-mates had our own transportation so we did like most locals did and we got up and went with Transpo.

I always admired the catchy slogan of South Bend's public bus service, Transpo, "Get up and go with Transpo!" Sorry, Transpo, but "The new way to go" just doesn't... well... it doesn't make me want to get up.

Regardless of its slogan, Transpo's dependable service transported Ted and me the seven and a half slushily cold miles to the far south end of South Bend to the theaters at Scottsdale Mall which has since been unceremoniously razed and replaced with a colorfully nondescript collection of strip malls where I believe a Target bullseye stands watch over the former cinema on the mall's east end.

Our Saturday afternoon matinee did not disappoint and Ted and I immediately started making plans to revisit the tragically beautiful epically dramatic biopic during our return Transpo to the downtown bus station where we expected to transfer northbound back to campus.

We learned a valuable lesson from our driver that day, almost as significant and certainly more practical than any lesson in our college courses: buses stopped running at 6:00 PM on Saturdays (no service on Sundays).

In a pre-cellular world, on a cold, slushily wet, and winter-dark Saturday, I had no choice but to find a pay phone and beg my friend Coni (who had a car and her own apartment) for a ride.

Ask her today, 32 years later, and either she will say I have lost my mind because she doesn't remember this incident (huge favor) at all or she will roll her eyes and think, "Yeah, Lou, I dragged my heiny out of my Saturday night bubble bath for you boys... of course I remember!" If I know Coni, it is definitely (hopefully) somewhere in between.

Remind me to share with you the tragically embarrassing tale of

my first attempt at doing laundry and how Coni set me straight.

And if I know Ted, I have a feeling Out of Africa is right up there on his favorites list, too. I remember he spent quite a bit of time trying to find the poem Karen read at Denys' funeral, one of my favorite scenes in any film. Remember, this was pre-IMDB, pre-internet even, when you had to look subjects up in the most current Reader's Guide to Periodical Literature (that necessary scourge of all research) before finding the drawer with the correct microfiche!

I know.  I've lost half my audience.

In other words, you had to work really long and hard to answer a question that Alexa can monotonically retort to your request in just a few seconds, but Ted was determined and I remember how excited we both were when he introduced me to A. E. Houseman's "To an Athlete Dying Young," a beauty of an ode that was likewise brilliantly excerpted in the film.

Yes, I know. Copenhagen.

When we were first researching Copenhagen, Mari discovered with great joy that the Karen Blixen Museum was located just outside the city.

Onto my list went the family home of the celebrated Out of Africa author (published under Blixen's pen name, Isak Dinesen) and an extra day in Copenhagen inked onto our itinerary.

No sooner had we disembarked from our cruise and rechecked our luggage at the Admiral, than we were hoofing it to Central Station for a train to Rungsted, about 20 miles to the north.

If you do take the train from Copenhagen, the front entrance to the museum is less than a mile's walk from the station and not worth the time it takes to wait for the local bus advertised here (at right) to take you to its first stop.

There is also a shortcut off Rungstedvej Street which will take you onto the rear of the museum's lush and well-tended property, allowing you to walk the property before approaching the museum from the back yard.

For a lover of Out of Africa as well as another favorite based on Blixen's writings, 1988's Oscar-winning foreign language film, Babette's Feast, a visit to Copenhagen must include an afternoon at the Karen Blixen Museum. If Mari's photos aren't enough to satisfy your cravings, then please click on my YouTube video below to watch highlights from our visit. We tour inside and outside the beautiful estate, home to the beloved Danish author.

the phonograph given to Blixen by Denys Finch Hatton

It was an incredible thrill to walk through Blixen's home, where she was raised and where she lived once more upon her return from Kenya in 1931 until her death in 1962.

It was a thrill I hope to repeat some day because I dream, of course, of visiting the "other" Karen Blixen Museum (in Nairobi, Kenya), but that is another story, another selfie, another journey, another list for another day.

beans harvested from Blixen's Nairobi coffee plantation

The K1 Flea Market outside Nairobi and the Masai market in Karen (named after you-know-who) on the grounds of Blixen's failed coffee farm are also on that travel list.

For now, I must pack up my melancholia and bid a fond farvel to a capital city which welcomed us magnificently even as it transported us on journeys beyond its Baltic byways. Our multinational cruise adventures notwithstanding, Copenhagen was a pleasant surprise and a city incredibly rich with history and culture, satisfyingly creative and delicious cuisine (that includes the express meals and pints of wild strawberries we picked up at the local føtex market to help us stay on budget), and, of course, the welcomingly wonderful and wonderfully eclectic Sunday flea at Ravnsborggade.

I think my wonderfully supportive travel partner would agree that should we ever decide to pack it all up, go minimalist (but modishly modern), and trade in our cars for bicycles, Copenhagen would definitely be at the top of my list.

A special episode awaits us next week as I begin an intimidatingly exciting new adventure!

Copenhagen, episode 9. ¡In which finalmente viajamos a Estocolmo!

This photo has been a long time coming. Mari and I have been wanting to visit "Estocolmo" ever since watching one of our favorite films, Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown, nearly 30 years ago. I know, it doesn't make any sense, but like any memory worth treasuring, it only needs to make sense to you and (in my case) the love of my life who truly gets me and appreciates my ridiculously and stupidly simple sense of humor.

Ever since hearing the vigorous Spanish pronunciation of Sweden's capital city repeated throughout the film's third act, we've been anxiously awaiting an opportunity to visit "Estocolmo," I mean, Stockholm. This may not be the best photo to represent that Baltic burg, but the patinaed copper spire of St. Gertrude's Church was omnipresent in our souvenir photos as we enjoyed a few hours of free time wandering the busy streets and shopping centers surrounding the baroque beauty.

The Vasa warship on full display inside the museum (exterior views in my video).

Please click on my YouTube video below to watch some of my video footage from our Stockholm shore excursion which begins at the Vasa Museum, then moves on to the changing of the guard and some additional city views as we wander the colorful avenues and alleys of Old Stockholm on the island of Stadsholmen (a bit like sightseeing in Manhattan, only with actual royalty).

After our city highlights tour which included a stop at the Vasa Museum, we were dropped off at the 350+ year-old Kungliga Slottet (Royal Palace) for a free afternoon during which Mari and I enjoyed the changing of the guard ceremony, an unexpectedly gourmet cafe lunch full of local flavor (and incredible fresh butter for the incredible fresh bread), and an opportunity to inject some exchanged krona into the local economy.

That's our cafe whose outdoor dining space was unfortunately not available to two open-air-dining-deprived South Texas tourists famished for al fresco feasting.

In the upper left of my spectacularly skewed tablescape, sandwiched between my strong coffee and (what else was I going to eat during my one and only day in Sweden?!) Swedish meatball special is a misleadingly tiny (but bountifully potent) plate proferring my first of three servings of butter (with bread).

Yes, those are lingonberries riding astride the meatballs and parsleyed mashed potato mounds!

Lingonberries!

(And that is the mushroom soup that Mari has not stopped talking about for the past year.)

At right is a colorful display beckoning collectors into one of the street's tempting antiques shops. Warning: I am a big sucker for displays like this.

I am also a sucker (pun intended)

for candy shops like this.

I am reminded now to remind you about money exchanges.

Be sure to do your research before international travel.


Although their intention was to provide a universal currency for countries within conveniently close proximity, Euros are not universally accepted throughout Europe. Check your travel guides, websites, or even the country's wikipedia page well in advance of your journey. While Euros and British pounds are available at most large banks, you may need to order other currency from your bank in advance of your departure.

In the case of our Baltic cruise, Mari and I were in need of Danish krone (DKK) for Copenhagen; Euros (EUR) for Germany, Estonia (still sad about our missed Tallinn stop), and Finland; non-returnable Russian rubles (RUB); and Swedish krona (SEK). In addition to the krone and krona (not the same), we also had Icelandic króna (ISK) to consider for the next leg of our trip (and Pounds sterling GBP beyond that). I was a little surprised to find three different "krona" with three very different valuations as I began the process of ordering currency from my bank. One of the reasons we selected our bank is because it offers no-fee currency exchanges if you maintain a minimum balance. I was also able to order currency online and have it delivered to my home at no cost. Almost too easy.

Be sure, please, to do any currency exchanges well in advance of your trip and try your best to guesstimate what you will realistically need. This will help keep you on budget while traveling and also keep you from over-exchanging. Of course, you can always exchange (most) currency back into dollars upon your return, but you will invariably lose money in the process.

Now, another (more convenient) option is to rely on your credit card when you are outside the United States. You will be given the best and most up-to-date exchange rate when your transaction is approved, but you may also be charged a "foreign transaction fee" per charge. You realistically want to have a little local cash on hand in case you find an amazing jar of homemade wild strawberry jam from a local vendor who harvested the strawberries herself!

It was just before reboarding our ship in Germany that we came across our strawberrylicious find and we were frustratingly careful not to open the jar until arriving home two weeks later!


Let's get back to Stockholm and that photo of me at the top of my blog, the one I posted to celebrate my 100th episode back in January. That was taken at the entrance to an alley of antiques shops that Mari and I were thrilled to discover as we traipsed our trail around Old Stockholm. I knew I needed a souvenir photo with that rustically appropriate signage and Mari's artful eye and steady hand were right at the ready. Many thanks for a favorite souvenir photo!

The antiques shops themselves down this little lane were plentifully packed with local treasures including beautifully intricate antique furniture and household items as well as books and jewelry.

One of the reasons why I enjoy secondhand shopping so much, especially in other regions, states, and countries, is that you learn so much about a local culture based on what has been collected and recollected. From the fondue forks tucked safely away in the bottom of my luggage to egg cups old and new and even colorful celluloid cat pins, a portrait of a culture emerges that is as distinct and unique and beautiful as the crafters who created these items and the hardworking individual collectors who initially invited them into their humble homes.

To some it may be "stuff" or (gasp) "junk," but to me (to paraphrase my beloved Bard) the memory's the thing.

Allow me to share with you two glintingly graceful yet utilitarian memories plucked from that picturesque antique alley.

The lång gaffel at left is about 8 inches while Mr. Stubby with the 5 (five!) triangular tines is just over 5 inches. Both were on display among a beautiful array of service implements and although it was Stubbs who caught my collector's gaze first, I couldn't leave his buddy behind.

Hardy without Laurel?

Not on my watch!

While I still haven't had occasion to spear then savor pickled herring with my shiny Swedish-crafted silverware (it is most definitely not silver), the 20-kroner-apiece picked pickle implements do serve for me as delicate but durably practical reminders of our Stockholm stop (for all of four dollars and 58 cents).

Finally, we couldn't leave Estocolmo behind without picking up Pippi (Longstocking that is).

A favorite childhood read of Mari's, Astrid Lindgren's beloved nine-year-old adventurer is well known the world over, of course, and Pippi Långstrump is as well known throughout Stockholm souvenir shops as she is still treasured the world over.

As we made our way back up to our tour's pick-up point, Mari and I stumbled upon a Pippi souvenir shop as colorfully jam-packed with goodies as Pippi's playful countenance is covered with freckles.

Mari limited herself to just the brightly-painted enamel-covered metal bowl pictured here which has since seen plenty of practical daily use from colorfully fruited loops (whole grain, of course) to a favorite "Chicago" mix of caramel and cheese popcorn.

Pippi would have especially liked the fantastically flavored little loops.





Our final Stockholm souvenir selfie before sailing back to our familiar Copenhagen was snapped at the end of a very long day full of new adventures and an unfortunately brief glimpse at a spectacular capital city full of fascinating history and an equally auspicious future. Our colorful floating home became a welcome sight after every Baltic adventure.

We share a final Copenhagen adventure next time as we venture out of (Africa) the city.

Copenhagen, episode 8. In which we stroll Helsinki.

I have to admit that my first sauna experience took place in Helsinki. Actually, it took place aboard our cruise ship, but Helsinki was off in the distance so I will give credit to the Finns since they did invent and perfect the art of intentionally luxuriating in a hot room. I was just getting myself accustomed to staying a full 10 minutes without feeling like I was going to pass out when our cruise ended. You would think living in South Texas all these years would have me better climatized to pore-opening environments, but we Texans don't spend much time in our beloved love-to-hate-it hundred-degree heat unless we are running to our air-conditioned cars, offices, or homes.

As I was recently recollecting photos and memories of our day trip to Finland, Mari shared with me this New York Times article touting a particularly significant health benefit of saunas which I will now share with you.

We also learned from our native tour guide that the correct pronunciation is not "saw-na" as we Americans are accustomed to saying (butchering), but "sow-na" (pronounced as "how").

That's the way Mari and I hear it in our heads now and when we revisit this souvenir photo taken from Helsinki's Market Square, we remember Hanna telling us just how big a part of Finnish culture saunas are.

So much so that there's a sauna car at the very top of the city's ferris wheel!

You will catch a glimpse of that sauna-enhanced wheel in action and much more if you click on my YouTube video below.

Please watch some of my video footage from our Father's Day shore excursion to Helsinki which includes a few architectural city highlights as well as a busy stop at a beautiful monument to Finnish composer Jean Sibelius.





My five-minute video also includes some footage from Market Square during a busy Sunday flea at the weekly farmers' market which included many local crafts and souvenirs.

Market Square's central location is right on the Baltic and within sightseeing distance of famed city sights such as the Presidential Palace and City Hall. Even if you are not a shopper, it's a perfect place to roam for souvenir photos.

Although excited to happen upon a local market, Mari and I were slightly disappointed not to find antique, vintage, nor collectable goods for sale.

As we were initially bussed into the city from port, Mari and I were suddenly simultaneously taken aback by one of the most unexpectedly beautiful and bountiful sights that we were just too amazed to sight from our tour bus window. A ginormous (I've come to accept it, and if it can be used by The New York Times in today's Sunday crossword, you should, too) honest-to-goodness fleamarket that included Finnish furniture and Scandinavian collectibles yllin kyllin!

I love the Finnish translation of galore as much as I love saying "galore."

As our city highlights tour was coming to an end, we were given the option of staying behind in a fashionable and shiny new marketplace bustling with designer department stores and restaurants for a few hours so naturally Mari and I took advantage of some Helsinki free time.

We did not, however, spend much time with designers except to walk through the complex to find our way first to Market Square and then go off in search of that fabulous Finnish flea.

Unfortunately, despite our best meanderingly clumsiest efforts, including a fruitless unplanned "tour" inside Helsinki's architecturally phenomenal 100-year-old Central Station, we failed to find route information back to that marvelous mirage of a Sunday fleamarket.


One of our favorite stops in Helsinki was at the famous Rock Church, officially known as Temppeliaukio Lutheran Church. You'll know why it has been dubbed so when you see it (there is a bit of footage in my video in addition to the photo here).

Mari and I were disappointed (frustrated) that our stop was scheduled during Sunday church service as we would have loved to explore the church's unusual interior as well as walk around (and atop) the church's exterior. 

The cool and cloudy morning did lend itself to a healthily introspective walk up and around the exterior and the extra time with the natural surroundings did provide an idyllic opportunity to reflect and, of course, snap a few more souvenir photos.

I have learned, dear reader, to turn delays and disappointments, however small, into memorable moments of reflection (during which I often plant the seeds of future travel lists). A church closed for Sunday service is just another reason to return to Helsinki!

Next time, it's måndag so it must be Stockholm.

Copenhagen, episode 7. In which I put all my Russian eggs in one basket.

When Mari and I first planned our June wedding back in 1990 (remember, the proposal took place on Valentine's Day during our final college semester in 1989), the intention was largely so that we could enjoy our family and friends (and each other) and not have to rush off to or rush back from a honeymoon to get back to work. That June wedding also gave us a future filled with opportunities to celebrate anniversaries during our summer travels which have taken us further and further from home the longer we have been married.

Last summer's Baltic cruise landed us in St. Petersburg, Russia on the day of our 27th anniversary for a full two days of sightseeing and not-so-bargain bargain hunting. Above is our best selfie in front of the souvenir stands in front of the Church of the Savior on Spilled Blood. The Russian Orthodox church was built in the late 1800s on the site where Emperor Alexander II was murdered. The mosaic-filled cathedral is a popular stop with tourists from all over the world as the dozens of souvenir stands lining the path to the church will attest.

You can catch a glimpse of those souvenir stands and much more if you click on my YouTube video above. Please watch some of my video footage from our shore excursions to St. Petersburg which include a city tour by boat, a brilliantly colorful visit inside Spilled Blood, and a special late night treat aboard the Norwegian Getaway.

Sometimes, it is difficult for me to wrap my head around the places I have been fortunate enough to visit. Nearly five summers ago, Mari and I were wandering the Acropolis of Athens along with a few (hundred) tourists and as we finally managed a camera exchange with fellow cruisers for a souvenir photo in front of the Parthenon, I paused and tearily asked Mari, "Can you believe where we are?!" It's a moment I will never forget and it is these tiny moments of self-awareness in larger-than-life locations that I so look forward to when traveling. It doesn't have to be Greece or Russia, but it was Russia in this case and Mari and I tried to make the most of our little time by taking advantage of three separate shore excursions in the two days we were docked in St. Petersburg.

Leaving the ship on that first morning, our anniversary, we joined some rather lengthy lines at customs unlike any we had ever experienced. After approximately an hour we were finally allowed to enter the beautiful and ancient and unexpectedly colorful and vibrant city of St. Petersburg. Our morning excursion included a city tour by boat as well as a tour inside the cathedral.

My stupid audio tour ear bud is still in my stupid ear in our colorful selfie above.

Our evening excursion was to the historic Menshikov Hall for a Russian folklore performance which we thoroughly enjoyed.

Another option for that evening was a live ballet performance of Giselle or Swan Lake at a local theater and yet another choice was an evening tour inside The State Hermitage Museum.

Unfortunately, our tour buses kept driving in every direction around that former residence of the Russian tsars, but none of our three excursions included visits inside the former Winter Palace. That's my best shot of the facade from inside one of our tour buses.

Hopefully, there will be another visit to St. Petersburg and Russia in our traveling future because the overwhelmingly bountifully bustling city is definitely worth a revisit.

Not free to wander in search of Russian fleamarkets, Mari and I made do with souvenir shops in the city as well as "pop up" souvenir stands set up at the port by local vendors.

If you are a cruiser, then you know to expect souvenirs as well as local crafts and specialties for sale when you are reboarding your ship for your evening sail away from port.

If you are new to cruising, then be sure to save a little time (and rubles) to spend before getting back on board because honestly these local vendors seem to have the best variety of items and the most reasonable prices. I still say that fleamarkets are the best place for inexpensive local souvenirs, but it is always a pleasure to purchase hand crafted goods from the crafters themselves.

We have even found that special event sales aboard your very own floating hotel will afford you convenient opportunities for souvenir shopping without the inconvenience of currency exchange.

If Russian travels are in your future, be aware that you should spend all your rubles abroad because you will not be able to exchange them back for dollars upon your return.

Mari and I could not help but laugh out loud at the enthusiastic spirit of Russian Capitalism embraced by the owner of this mobile souvenir shop!


Both our daytime shore excursions included visits to souvenir shops, of course, so even though you are not allowed to roam around St. Petersburg on your own looking for bargains, you will still have plenty of opportunity to find gifts and just the right memento (or bottle of vodka) to satisfy your thirst.

Mari and I added to our egg cup collection (remember, neither of us eats soft-boiled eggs) with these vibrantly matchy-matchy sisters, decked out in full folkloric garb.

Мисс Яйцо Кубок (that's Miss Egg-cup to you) in red on the right bears another St. Petersburg memento, an egg ornament which I assure you is not of the Fabergé variety.

I was nearly overwhelmed in a small room of a gift shop with thousands of these colorful ornaments seemingly surrounding me, their glistening homage to Russian artists and themes calling me to rescue them from souvenir obscurity. I quickly picked up a basket from the stack in the corner awaiting anxious souvenir hunters and entered the fray as we plucked beautiful egg after beautiful egg from danglingly dazzling display in what must have resembled some ancient pastoral rite of harvest.

When I later found Mari by the register, nearly a full dozen eggs in my reaped assemblage, she helped me recalculate my improvised ruble conversions and regain my sanity. My harvested handbasket of ornaments would have wiped us out of rubles four-fold and while we didn't want to have any ruble remnants at the end of our two days, this was not the way to go. I looked at Mari and sheepishly raised my index finger and whispered, "One." This was my favorite, reminding me as much of Gustav Klimt and our wonderful visit to the Vienna Christmas markets as it would remind me of our day trip to St. Pete. The lady in yellow on the left proffers another of my cherished paper-mâché treasures, kin to the one I shared with you on Easter.

Leaving St. Petersburg that final time, the day after our anniversary, was another of those melancholy moments I often experience when traveling. I've even come to look forward to them.

You know me and

"my moments."

I've learned that it is good to be a little sad when leaving a touristed location because then you know you have really enjoyed your limited time there.

Fleamarketed items and souvenirs help us experience nostalgia anew and remembering to pick one up off a crowded (and dusty) shelf from time to time is a quick way to satisfy that travel itch.

I leave St. Pete posing among a display at a port shop with a tried and true (Columbia blue) travel companion, itself a souvenir of my time as a Memorial Mustang (which is quickly coming to an end). More on that in a future post.

Next, we sink our teeth into Helsinki.