Gotland

Earlier I found myself on a ferry ride to a mythical land, Gotland. Mythical because of the extreme pride of natives who talk it up. Twinkles appear in the eyes of Gotlanders when the word is mentioned and they will speak at length of it as if it is their first and only child.

The way Gotland seems to have shaped many artists, it has become a popular haven for the creative but even in my short time here, it seems that Gotlander artists use it as a fencepost: something they can lean against (though in some cases, it leans back). In addition to an artist haven, it is also a hugely popular vacation spot in the summer. I was hoping for, if nothing else, packed shows, fresh air, and a dip in the Baltic Sea (if only just to say I've done it, which I now have). I got more than that.

The beginning of our second day began at 3am to drive an hour for a 4am casting call for a TV4 program. Filmed in the ruins of a once magnificent stone church, the three hour show highlighted the upcoming goings on in Gotland: a politcal convention, a small culinary fest, a new wonderful vet, Theresa Anderson shows (she performed two songs on the program which I got to mix live to air), and the circus. The circus spot was one of constant buzz because it featured Mickey, a very large, very hungry elephant.

That's correct. For many hours Mickey hung around a small field that was once the grand stone foyer of a very large church eating apples and unpeeled bananas whole with an insatiable appetite both for the fruit and attention of the dozens of confused onlookers. Confused because an elephant was downtown, confused because an elephant was being filmed at 7am, confused because they were stand out of earshot of the hosts and may have found it necessary to draw their own conclusions rather than popping on Sweden's Good Morning America and discovering the real reason for presence of this uncaged, untethered gentle giant in their fair city.

That afternoon we made our way to a local hotel compound (many cottages, hostel rooms, and true hotel rooms) for the show. The staff, while attentive and generally aiming to please, became a source of constant irritation through their music choices. I truly believe that the young manager has just discovered the Barenaked Ladies and admires them vociferously as the triumphant voice of a generation. Thus, he played the same five songs over and over as an evangelist of the gospel of sappy Canadian pop. Otherwise, the accomodations were fine.

This morning, I took a walk down to the store. I grabbed a pear and Coke, set them down on the counter, waited to hear the price (or actually see it on the screen) before handing over my money, and said "tack." In response, the duder said "you're welcome." How did he know!? Apparently my look just screams American. No matter what I wear people know that I do not belong. Amazing.