These are of course not all the impressions I took away with me; those are too numerous to inscribe here and now.
     There are a lotta white people.  I said as much to Wlofie on the boat I couldn't help but call Hell's Ferry, since it goes between Helsingør and Helsingborg.  It was really a very nice ferry, it was just the names that struck me.
    I just now realized that as a young child, I once lived in a part of Vicksburg, Mississippi, called Hall's Ferry.  That's funny.
    Wlofie is a lot more attractive than he gives himself credit for, and a lot more attractive than I expected.  He's lost weight since I've known him, and his smoky, sultry eyes are a lot more striking in person than in any picture.  His hair is long and soft and a rich multi-toned brown.  His skin is very touchably smooth, and he's a damn fine cuddle.  I could go on.
    His mother is a very kind and interesting person.  She is an educator who really gives a damn about her pupils, and apparently all the other ones in the school.  Teachers like her are a rare and wonderful commodity wherever you go.  Unfortunately she is on sick leave, but I hope she can go back to work soon.  She was a most charming, generous, and graceful hostess, though I got the impression that she did not consider this to be so.  I was immediately and completely comfortable.
    It took me a couple days to get used to the communication style Wlofie and his mother were using, so dissimilar to my own, though they spoke English better than I.  It was more about the technique of delivering the ideas, one that I had thought peculiar to the Huz, but now I see it might be a cultural thing.  No, he's not from any part of Scandinavia, but his parents are from Germany, and it may be a common custom across Europe (for all I know) to be more dramatic or comedic or otherwise performing while conversing.  I felt a bit inadequate.  I don't think I'm really all that entertaining a conversationalist, but I think I picked up the knack eventually, and certainly learned to better understand it as it was presented me.
    I like a pinch of salt in my coffee.
    There is a region of southern Sweden called Scania, which is actually Skåne.  Åstorp looks like it's as far north as you can get in Scania and still be in it.  This area was a bone of contention between the Swedes and the Danes for a long time, and even now it feels like the Scanians feel warmer toward Danes than northern Swedes.
    Åstorp is a nice little town that looks to be about the size of Belmar, New Jersey, or maybe a bit smaller.  Definitely bigger than Farmingdale.  There's a door factory there, and a big nursery that has brightly lit hothouses which reflect their light off the nighttime ceiling of clouds.
    I learned lots of bits of Swedish and Danish on my trip, but more importantly, I gathered a lot of clues about how to decipher the bits I don't know.  By the end of the week, I was doing rather well with signs and ads.
    The Swedish train system is rather easy to figure out.  The Danish one, however, could use some simplification in its fare system.
    A lot of things are illegal in Sweden.  I lost track of all the unusual things I heard about that were outlawed.
    I wish the US has as comprehensive and as modern a cellular phone network.  It truly is amazing.  As is their cel equipment and features.
    How clever to stick TVs in the supermarket here and there, playing commercials.  How wide the selection of fresh, canned, refrigerated, and frozen fish.  Especially refrigerated fish.  Oh man, there were lots of culinary wonders at the grocery store.  I got a rumbly tumbly.
    Then again, my stomach didn't cease its noise the whole time I was there.  I think I was still suffering the colitis that I am convinced my job inflicted on me, but that is another entry.
    When you insert a really big ring through a quay, I think it can be called a naval piercing.  I saw such a thing in Helsingborg.  I also saw the big famous tower that is there, although we were five minutes too late to go in.  In that same park, I found a baby's pacifier.  That same one is now fastened to the front of my jacket, on a clip that is meant for keys.  There's more, but I am getting tired, and I have quite another story to tell before I can go to bed.

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