Chenille: A Bird's-Eye View from Under the Bed: Yep, It's Broke....Yep, I Broke It

Road Trip, Day Two: UNESCO World Heritage City of Falun

Holy Cow! This post will be chock-full of really cool info, much of which I was unaware of before my jaunt across the Swedish homeland. Here is some relevant background info (consider yourself on a mission--to make it through this piece--which may require the occasional briefing by a shadowy spy-like character--namely me. There will be no tests involved, nor will you have to shoot anyone with an atomic shoelace gun, nor have unseemly liaisons with folks of questionable but intriguing character.

1. UNESCO stands for United Nations Educational, Scientific, and Cultural Organization.

Its World Heritage Cities mission is to promote, preserve, and protect cities/regions around the world which have significant cultural heritage.

2. The city of Falun, Dalarna Province, Sweden is a World Heritage site.*

Mining Area of the Great Copper Mountain in Falun

The enormous mining excavation known as the Great Pit at Falun is the most striking feature of a landscape that illustrates the activity of copper production in this region since at least the 13th century. The 17th-century planned town of Falun with its many fine historic buildings, together with the industrial and domestic remains of a number of settlements spread over a wide area of the Dalarna region, provide a vivid picture of what was for centuries one of the world's most important mining areas.

3. Pretty big deal, no? And after long day of driving, Carla and I had indeed made it to Falun, found our hotel, found the very nifty Dalarna Museum, but were still unable to find the copper mine, using our so far not-very-trusty GPS. We could not find an address, but figured this giant pit in the ground should be pretty easy for even us to find, and, given its whoop-scoop-dee-doo status internationally there should be plenty of road signs, no?

4. Apparently, NO!

After enjoying yet another delicious breakfast buffet, Carla and I checked out of the hotel and inquired at the desk as to the best way to get to the mine and historical center. I should admit that I was a bit distracted by taking pictures of Carla getting directions while the concierge was actually giving said instructions and helpfully marking a piece of paper with an ersatz map. Go right, around the corner, cross the river, hit the round-about...it all sounded pretty simple.

We gave the GPS one more try, only to receive, AGAIN!, the bewildering and infuriating message, "Destination not found." Really?!?!?! Well, we had our little map, though it was now somewhat crumpled in my somewhat sweaty palm, so we boldly headed out.

While trying to jog my memory today while composing this post, I found that I could insert a Google Map of Falun with the designated route from our Clarion Hotel to Falu Gruv (Falun Pit, Grave, or Mine!). Click on the link below and voila! You can transport yourself across the world with an interactive map that highlights our journey. Please bear in mind that this map is far more detailed than the one scribbled on the hotel stationery. You will be in much better shape than Carla and I were as we sallied forth.

Map of Our Hotel to Copper Mine

(Key points of inerest: Clarion Hotel Bergmastaren, Falu Mine, Statoil

Falun Vasagatan)

We made it around the block exactly four times (leave the hotel, move four dots along the map route. Stop there in a panic of befuddlement, and go back to the hotel to start over. Repeat three more times.) By the fourth trip, we gave up, parked in front of the hotel, and Carla informed me that it was MY turn to get the directions. No problem! I had great faith in my navigating abilities, and I would pay good attention this time.

Hoping not to appear too ridiculous, I strode semi-confidently up to the desk. "Hello. We just checked out a few minutes ago (like Carla and I NEVER leave a lasting impression when we are out in public!) and you gave us directions to the Copper Mine, but so far, we've only managed to drive around the block four times, so could you tell me again, please?" And we wonder why America's reputation as a world political, industrial, and intellectual leader is somewhat tarnished! The gal smiled back at me, grabbed another piece of paper, used two colors of ink, added a river and some trees to the map, and went over the whole thing with me three times. I just nodded like I was Kit Carson, not that she would have any idea who he was!

Back in the car, I assured Carla we were good to go. This time we made it all the way to the third dot on the Google map, and turned left onto the highway. By the time we realized that we should have turned right, we were off and running! We drove around throughout Falun, recognizing a few places from our walk the night before. Surely we would find our way to the copper mine!

Well, after about fifteen minutes of zig-zagging around, we spotted a full-service gas station. Now this is important, because we had learned earlier on our road trip that
most gas stations we encountered were nothing more than gas pumps under a metal roof. So gas had to be purchased by credit card. Whether it is standard practice in Sweden for American credit cards, or just because it was Carla and me, traveling under the aura of perpetual misadventure, neither of our credit cards were accepted. So we kept our eyes out for full-service stations where we could either pay cash or have our identities verified by station attendants.

We figured we could ask for directions (again) and top off the tank of the car at the same time. Surely we would be on our way in just a few minutes. Once again, we found our credit cards declined, so we headed in to take care of that and get instructions. The very nice lady verified Carla's credit card and told us we'd have to move to the next set of pumps to get diesel gas. We ambled back out, and I positioned myself in front of the diesel pump, exaggeratingly motioning to Carla like I was Vanna White on Wheel of Fortune--"This way, Carla! Pick a pump! Pick a letter! Win a brand new car!" I volunteered to pump the gas while Carla took her credit card back in to pay for the gas.

Here's the thing. We were driving a car that required diesel gas, obviously. That was further indicated by the big sticker of a big D on the gas cap. We had been told to drive up to the pump with the black handle. I had made a big deal of calling to Carla, "Pull forward to the black pump, Carla! The black pump!" So, while Carla waited back inside, I proceeded to fill the tank. even though we were probably down only a quarter of a tank, I wanted to make sure I topped it off, so I gave the pump a few extra squeezes. As I put the handle back into its slot in the pump, I saw to my complete horror that I had used the green handle--regular gas! Dear God, I had destroyed the rental car!

Now, in my defense, I want you to notice how the pump looks. In the U.S. it is green that signifies diesel fuel on the pump handles, and black that labels regular gas.

I know from my Lumosity brain training program, that our minds register color and size before anything else. See! I'm learning cool stuff! Apparently, even though I knew I needed to pump diesel fuel into the car, my brain reverted to "Oooh! I see green! Better pump that diesel!" And this from someone who taught reading for most of her adult life!

My heart and stomach plummeted to my feet, and I headed into the gas station "butik" like a condemned criminal towards the gallows. Before I could admit my crime, I heard the station attendant lady exclaim to Carla, "Oh, no, she pumped gasoline into your car, not diesel.!" Still feeling the need to purge my soul, I told Carla the same thing. Carla immediately turned ashen-faced and muttered, "I think I'm going to be ill." She then turned toward the restroom, only to find that she could not open the door. That was something else that had plagued the intrepid duo on our trip--an inability to accomplish even the most mundane of feats--like turning on the shower or opening a door. She kept working the door, looking grimmer by the second, until some poor hapless man finally exited from behind said door. Shame and horror compounded.

What were we to do? Even at the car rental office we had been admonished, "Do not use regular gasoline!" It was written into our rental agreement as well, noting that fools who pumped anything but diesel into the vehicle were exempt from the extra coverage we had purchased for our trip. Add to that, we did not speak Swedish, and were trying to figure out what to do, and how to explain our just ever so slightly complicated predicament to whomever we would ultimately have to turn for help. Everything was in Carla's name, and I was the culprit who had possible destroyed the engine of our car. Would that I could have disappeared into the floor.

This is the lovely lady who became our Angel of Mercy. She told us not to worry, that this happened all the time. This might have been true, or she might just have been extraordinarily kind.
Maybe it was indeed a weekly occurrence, or maybe Americans just have "stupid" tattooed across their foreheads in ink that only Europeans can see. Whatever the case, she reassured us that the tank would just have to be pumped out after the car was towed away, and we would have to get a new car. Clutching her sheaf of rental agreements, driver's license, visa, and what-not, Carla continued to look like she had been stricken with the plague, West Nile Virus, and a case of the vapors. I hid out in the cold foods aisle, trying to mentally translate the Swedish advertisements into English, but kept my ears alert to the goings-on.

I cannot begin to emphasize how kind and helpful this woman and the young man who assisted her in the station were to Carla and me. She made several phone calls, to the rental agency and to the towing service, keeping us apprised of every conversation. She told us to just go have a seat and enjoy some coffee while we waited. She kept us posted as to when the tow truck would arrive. As Carla recovered her equilibrium, I continued to slink around in the background, not sure of how much damage I had caused, but sure it was pretty disastrous.

Finally the tow truck arrived and the three of us, including our Angel of Mercy, went out to greet the driver. Our kind helper explained to us that there was room in the tow truck cab for only one of us, so the other would have to stay at the gas station and wait. Both Carla and I volunteered each other to stay (even though we had made fools of ourselves --ok, that would mostly or totally be me) there at the station, it had begun to feel like home, and we felt safe there. Plus there was food, coffee, and a bathroom we had figured out how to gain entry to; i.,e. wait for the current occupant to exit! Ultimately, the ride in the tow truck was awarded to Carla, whose name was on all the paperwork.

So, here was the scary part. Carla and I were each now alone in a foreign country. A beautiful, kind, largely English-speaking country, but we were foreigners just the same. I snapped pictures of Carla driving away in the tow truck, and slunk back in to the gas station "butik" to pass the time. I was offered coffee and a comfy place to sit. I hadn't had any time to read anything but travel guides since our arrival in Sweden, so I took my Kindle from my backpack, and settled in to read "The Rosie Effect," which fortunately was hilarious. I was given periodic updates on the status of our debacle. After depositing our car to wherever it would be pumped clean, the tow truck driver and Carla had to go three towns over to find a rental car agency that had an available car with and automatic transmission. From that point on it would be about an hour before they returned, which, happily, gave Carla time to learn how to actually use the GPS for our next adventures. Tutorial compliments of the tow truck driver, who Carla said was as very friendly and helpful chap.

It was thrilling to be reunited with my travel partner, and luckily, our enforced separation due to my forcing gasoline into a diesel engine, had soothed our angst and frustration with each other. You know that mean's Carla's frustration toward me--she had done nothing wrong! After profusely thanking our Angel of Mercy and her erstwhile assistant (who patiently waited while I fumbled through my Swedish coins trying to pay for a pack of gum while a rather long line of customers formed behind me. I was completely oblivious to their presence and spent a fair amount of time just admiring the sparkly coins. Dear Lord!), Carla and I hopped into our all-new car (see--Carla did win a brand new car!) and were actually able to program our route to the Falun Copper Mine.

What should have been a twelve minute drive to the mine from our hotel had only taken three and a half hours. With a working GPS, or should I more correctly say, better programmers working the GPS, we finally made it to our destination. We were now nearly two days behind our tour schedule before the third day of our trip. But we were shown such kindness and help by total strangers, that THAT was the take-away from this fiasco: Kindness and compassion are gifts that just can't be beat.