I started writing up this walk two days after leaving Gothenburg, in a holiday croft house in Harris, in the Western Isles of Scotland. As the snow storms blow down from the north it's amazing to think that 72 hours ago I was enjoying the sights and warm sunshine in the lively centre of this cosmopolitan Swedish city (see today's story from Harris for a contrast).
Gothenburg (or Göteborg as it is known in Swedish) is a prosperous port, commercial and industrial centre on the western coast of southern Sweden. I'd travelled there by train from the capital Stockholm on the opposite side of the country after a visit to the smaller city of Gävle, described in a separate walking story. The long journey took nearly 5 hours on the inter-city express, rather longer than the new super-fast X2000 train which runs alternate hours, but at a rather lower price!
Much of the interior of the country seems to be made up of endless forests, but the approach to Gothenburg runs past large industrial plants.
It was raining when I arrived in late afternoon, so when I had an hour-and-a-half free the next afternoon I was lucky to find the sun shining outside the Scandic Europa hotel where I was staying. It was warm too, without much breeze, in contrast to the weather during the previous couple of weeks when there had been some late snowfall. When I left for Scotland the next afternoon the rain was back with a vengeance.
I went out for an easy run, with my camera, which is a great way to see around cities when there's not much time to spare. What took about 22 minutes to run (plus time for photos) would amount to just under 3 miles, making it an easy walk of between an hour and 90 minutes.
The hotel provided free maps of the city supported by advertising, and the route I took occupied just a small part of the area covered. I could see a curved line of parkland south of the where the hotel and station were situated, and wanted to go in that direction.
(If you need toilets along the way, the map shows these situated in Drottningtørget at the start, at the south-western gate to Trädgårdsforeningen park, and on the south side of the Sprangkullsgatan bridge at the end of the parkland beside the canal).
First I ran past the station across Drottningtørget, stopping to get a couple of photos of the Hamn canal. Crossing by a bridge, I found myself at the entrance gateway to the Trädgårdsforeningen park. It was marked by an arched sign overhead.
It was a pleasant run through the park but there were sections of path closed off for reconstruction work (a reminder of many walks in 2007 as reported in this news item).
Away to the left was a large glazed planthouse; on the right was the bank of another winding canal. I stopped for some photos of the buildings on the other side of the canal, then continued through to the gate at the far side.
The parkland continued beside the canal after crossing the road, beyond the main theatre building with a long queue of people outside. There were more sections of path which had been dug up, so I had to take an indirect route, and crossed to the south side of the park to get a closer look at the fine buildings on the other side of the road. Then back to the canal bank for a couple of photos of the crocuses, and across Sprängkullsgatan. This was one of several roads I crossed which would provide a shortcut back into the centre of town for anyone in a hurry.
On the other side of the canal was what looked like a modern church building. Rising up behind it was the edifice of an older apartment block with a castellated top. I carried on along the pavement on the south bank, onto a quiet street past a few boats with a view along the canal towards the massive bulk of a ship in the harbour. Just to the right was the functional structure of Göteborgs Energi - the city power station. I continued in that direction, past some stylish (19th century?) apartment blocks, to the waterfront.
Suddenly the views opened out across the water to a variety of big ships, one propped up in a dry dock. From there I turned right and ran along the harbourside, taking a brief detour onto a pier with a piece of public art shaped like the skeleton of a boat. Back along the waterfront, I realised I was approaching the bridge across the entrance to the city centre canal which I'd seen early near the station (Stora Hamn Kanalen). This would give me a direct route back towards the station. If I'd carried on another few hundred metres I'd have reached another small harbour area where the city's maritime museum was located.
I crossed to the north bank of the canal (Norra Hamngatan) and ran in towards the city centre, stopping for photos of the town museum and the view across the bridge. Then on past a church, and I crossed over the next bridge. I wanted to have a look along a couple of the narrow old streets and turned on to Drottningatan; it turned out to be an up-market shopping area. However, if I'd stuck to the north bank I'd have reached the Gustav Adolfs Torg, an impressive square which I walked through later in the evening on the way back from a restaurant, with the Town Hall (Rädhus) on thet north side.
At the next junction I turned left onto Östrahamngatan - with a view of a masted ship in the distance - then back along the canal bank to Drottningtorget and the hotel.
It was an ideal circuit to sample the city's parks, harbour area, canalside streets and fine buildings, and easy to follow (with a map).
It didn't take Emmitt too long to get out of bed. He often loves tumbling under the covers in the morning, thinking about how he could undebacle certain situations, but he was in a hurry on this particular day.
"I should not has eaten those five bowl of macaronis and cheese!" Emmitt yelped while sprinting toward the bathroom. Of course, the five bowls were unavoidable, as Eric Mangini forced his mother to slave away in the kitchen for him and his special guest.
Forty-five agonizing minutes later, Emmitt finally finished with the toilet, which was so full that it refused to flush.
Emmitt gathered his belongings and bade farewell to his hosts. He walked toward his car upon exiting the house, but was unexpectedly accosted by reporters.
"Emmitt, hi, I'm Anderson Cooper, the famous reporter who thinks he's better than everyone because I pretend to care so much," said a gray-haired skinny man who looked like an aging lesbian. "Because you're a prominent man of color, us journalists value your opinion more than anyone else's. Can you tell us what you think about the horrible bathroom laws involving Celery individuals?"
"I like to eat celerous," Emmitt stated. "When I played football in the National League of Football, I ate celerous a lot because fruit real good for you. And not just real good. Real, real good. Now, I eat celerous fewer but he still taste good!"
There was stunned silence from the throng of reporters for about 10 seconds. Then, all at once, they bombarded Emmitt with questions.
"Emmitt, hi, I'm Wolf Blitzer, the guy who was able to buy eight yachts with the money the Clintons paid me," said another old reporter who happened to be wearing glasses in a futile attempt to make himself look smarter. "Did you just say that you like to eat celery? How can you possibly do this?"
"Hello, Emmitt, I'm Don Lemon," said a light-skinned black man who looked like he was still mentally damaged internally from being owned by a police chief on air. "Do you realize that by declaring that you eat celery, you've basically admitted that you are a cannibal?"
"I do not understand how eating celerous can make you into a cannon ball," Emmitt replied. "I do not belief I am a cannon ball but stranger thing have happen. Maybe I is a cannon ball. Or maybe I are a cannon ball."
"Hey, Emmitt, follow-up question," Anderson Cooper interjected. "I'm guessing by eating celery, you're basically admitting that you don't support having separate bathrooms for people who identify as being celery stalks?"
"No, Anderson Pooper, I do not understand why celerous need his or herm own bathroom when he just something to eat. Now, if you'll accuse me, I have to find my friend Dianna Marie Russia."
Emmitt pushed past the reporters and got into his car. An hour later, headlines were popping up on many Web sites, including the Huffington Post:
Emmitt wasn't sure where he was driving. He just sped off from Eric Mangini's house as quickly as possible to escape from the hounding reporters.
"I am confuse, very confuse," he said aloud. "Why does people care that I like to eat the celerous? Celerous real tasty expecially when you dunk himselves in peanut butter, Ranch dressing or ketchup butter."
Emmitt's thought process was interrupted with a foreign ringing. He instinctively reached for his phone before realizing that it wasn't coming from that.
"You must have losted your cellulous phone," Emmitt answered. "Do not worry, I have recover your cellulous. Tell me where your address are and I will returned him to you."
"How can you plant a cellulous if the cellulous not a plant or an animal?" Emmitt asked, scratching his head.
"Ugh..." the voice trailed off. "Forget it. I have one thing to say to you, and that is I have Dianna Marie Russini."
"You finally found her!" Emmitt exclaimed. "Now you really have to tell me where your address are because I has been looking for her for a few year now."
"What? I'm not giving her back to you, at least not yet," the voice declared. "She's a hostage. I'm holding her hostage. You do know what a hostage is, don't you?"
"Ugh, no, that's a hospital," the voice replied, sounding frustrated again. "I'm holding her prisoner. You'll only get her back if you do something for me."
"You'll have to take my word for it," the voice replied. "Now, Emmitt, follow my instructions, or Dianna Marie Russini dies."