Saturday, 25 July 1970 -- Kalmar, Ronneby, Private Hospitality

0500 came awfully early; I got ready for the day, but felt like a robot with someone else at the controls. There really hadn’t been a decent night’s sleep since leaving Washington four days earlier. I was thoroughly jet-lagged, to boot. This being an IACE Ambassador stuff was tough! Nevertheless, our guys rallied, got dressed, packed and headed for the Bromma Airport with the Swedish Escort Officers. This was going to be our first weekend with private hospitality.

After a continental breakfast, an SAS Convair 660 (a twin-engine turbo-prop; like the USAF T-29) headed south at 0645; ticket's courtesy of the RSAF. We landed once, in Kalmar and dropped off two Cadets (one British and one American). We then landed in Ronneby on the Southeastern coast. where my Canadian sidekick, John McDonald, and I got off. Our Swedish Escort Officer, LT. Bengt Pettersson, who was also to be our host, guided us to his sporty little Volvo and introduced us to his two small boys and his wife. We went to his house nearby and ate brunch.

The Petersson’s home was situated in a small subdivision and was, I guessed, typically middle class. The main floor was an open plan and featured a lot of light, natural-finished wood. The basement featured a family room, "bastu" (sauna), and bomb shelter (no kidding!).

The picture windows in front were double paned and swung open on pivots halfway up each side. Didn’t notice an air conditioner; but the windows were open and the climate was really pleasant. Touring the house, the furnishings were quite nice and Scandinavian Modern was the motif (for some reason!), with a lot of light colored wood everywhere. The beds were kind of a platform-type with wooden edges to contain the mattress; like a sleigh bed. Two of these pulled side by side formed a double bed for the parents.

"Guess this is for washing your feet," my Canadian buddy offered, looking at the bidet in the bathroom.

It was the first bidet I’d seen, too, but I’d done a little reading and knew it was for personal hygiene (That's 'washing your backside. - Ed.). There were even neat little towels hanging on conveniently low towel bars nearby. Can’t say I was ever motivated to try that fixture out, though, or the neat little towels.

Early that afternoon the LT. Pettersson brought us out to the summerhouse belonging to his in-laws. It is quite a tradition for Swedes to have a "cottage" for weekend family retreats. The cottage we visited was situated near the Baltic Sea, and there was a Swedish national flag flying proudly above the front yard. We chatted, played croquet, had dinner, and then returned to the Pettersson’s.

That evening we watched TV -- a couple of BBC programs in English -- bathed (in the "luxury" of a real tub) then went to bed early.

Sunday 26 July 1970 -- Larkaby

"You made a big move at about 9:30, and I thought you were going to get up," reported John McDonald, "but then you rolled over and went back to sleep."

I was just getting out of bed and glanced at my watch -- it was 1130. I’d been tireder than I thought, but now felt a lot better. I hurried up and dressed then made up my bed. John, Bengt (LT. Pettersson) and I drove out to some picturesque woods near his house and did some mushroom hunting. My previous experience with hunting for those tasty little guys was limited to supermarkets. It was probably a good thing that none of the candidates I found made it to the kitchen; we might have started hallucinating, or something.

Mrs. Pettersson cleaned up our "catch" and turned them into a kind of mushroom soufflé’ that was excellent. While we were waiting on brunch the little Petterson boys, both cute little fellows with blond hair, wanted to chatter and play. They seemed impatient when I couldn’t understand what they were saying and their Dad had to translate. I also found out that Bengt enjoyed jazz and flooded him with brochures of New Orleans, the French Market and, of course, the jazz halls.

Sweden is well known for its’ glassware and crystal so after brunch the Pettersson’s took us a nearby glass factory where I bought some schnapps glasses. We also met the other RSAF escort, Captain Nilsson, who had the other two Cadets we’d dropped off the previous day. A short drive and a quick hike into the woods later, we all had a picnic among towering hardwoods.

It was in all that driving around that signs of Sweden’s military preparedness became obvious. A rather wide road that seemed very level and straight turned out to be a runway. There were aircraft revetments back under he trees along the sides of the road.

More than once we’d see stretches of highway that doubled as airstrips. Also, little roads that led here and there off into the woods concealed groupings of bunkers. These were remote storage sites for military weapons and hardware. The Swedes were clearly serious about national survival!!!

That afternoon we picked up our luggage and were chauffeured to nearby Larkaby to visit CPT Nilsson’s home. After introductions to the family we enjoyed a dinner of boiled shrimp, bread, cheese and, yep, Coca-Cola. The visit was mostly small talk, both sides being limited by the language barrier, but the warmth and friendship were genuine. After dinner, John McDonald played the piano and we all played some board games in the family room.

A bit later, CPT Nilsson brought John and I to a rustic little hotel near his home. There, John and I linked up with two other Cadets and took a bus to a small traveling Tivoli. It mainly featured some slot machines and was more like a roving casino. There were a couple of old US-made nickel machines where, instead of a quarter-Kroner piece, I obligingly dropped a US nickel in and the machine promptly jammed. Embarrassed, I left it for the owners to figure out how a US nickel had come all that distance to show up in their "nickel" machine.

I got back to the hotel, without help from the "Polis" this time, and hit the sack sometime after midnight.

Monday 27 July 1970 -- F5-Ljungbyhed, Bjuv

CPT Nilsson picked us up the next morning for a drive to the RSAF’s main Flight School at F5. We were joined by the rest of the group, who flew in on an RSAF C-47, and went over to our barracks. The barracks featured private rooms, but had the communal showers and toilets we’d come to expect. A novel feature was that the barracks were coed and there were women living down the hall.

After talking about it we decided it was unique to see a culture as free of gender-based hang-ups as this one. It left the responsibility for behavior (and consequences) with the individual and didn’t hide behind a lot of artificial taboos. It seemed a lot more enlightened than anything we were used to.

Our group left by RSAF bus to the Findus food processing company in Bjuv. We went out to a company-owned pea farm and then back to the food processing plant. There we followed a process that saw fresh, raw ingredients come in the back door -- like the peas -- and come out the front as fully cooked TV dinners of Hungarian goulash, or whatever. After a briefing on the process, we got information packets and went off to a lunch of consisting of Findus products. I even tried the Hungarian goulash, and it was really tasty.

It was in all this traveling around by RSAF bus, that our group began to get to know each other. At first, everyone sat in their own national groups, but then began to mingle a bit. Soon everyone was talking about their homes and families and how our various school systems and governments worked. Finally, we were singing old drinking songs and military ditties like "The Rookie Trooper", "The North Atlantic Squadron" and the ribald "Engineer’s Song" (the British version was much better than ours). Only the Swiss guys, who spoke no English and were a lot older than all of us, stayed to themselves the whole time; guess it was that neutrality thing.

Personalities, likewise, emerged. Stephen Gunner a "Brit." was really a smooth talker and his cultured accent lent authority when we needed a spokesman. I became the head "Yank" and we had our immature "bad boys", an alcoholic, some quiet studious types and the rest were just regular guys.

Returning to F5 late that afternoon, we prepared for a banquet in our honor at the Officer’s Mess.

"Not another banquet!" someone groaned. Had to admit, though, we were getting pretty good at it and so, togged out in our blazers (which WERE getting ready for some dry cleaning by now) and dutifully headed for the Officer’s Mess.

It was, to that point, the best banquet we’d had. A band played while we met RSAF Flight Cadets, who had a remarkable capacity for aquavit, and were as cocky as fighter jocks in any country. The tables were set with crystal and linen and jacketed waiters moved about, pouring wine and bringing drinks. The meal was smorgasbord-style, but when I looked over at the buffet table my mouth went dry.

"Oh no," I thought, looking at a huge platter with the biggest fish I’d ever seen. Heck, this was Moby Dick’s little brother and was probably raw and pickled, to boot. "No wonder they served so many drinks."

As it turned out, the "fish" was actually crafted from a flaky pastry and contained a creamy filling of sautéed mushrooms and other things -- it was all delicious!!

The party moved to the lounge and social areas of the Mess where we visited with our hosts and several local girls. I retired to the bar and chatted with our Senior escorts and got to know them better, too. After a fine, fun, and full evening we retired to our barracks.