5th of August, part two

Let us start where we left off. Slow train bed and breakfast. We passed Kutens Bensin, the designated waypoint for turning off the main road (wherein is meant a small asphalt road, barely enough for two cars to pass each other. Then there was a small metal ball on top of a stonewall, a sign that with a shaking handwritten scrawl declared "Slow Train". Turning it, we came upon a garden no less. Parking on the grass, to one side there was a barn with a side that said "Eater" and to the other, a standard residence. The garden was in rickety shape, overgrown and ignored. The cellar entrance to the house had been opened, or swung open by itself, with a sign plastered over it that said "Jimmy Polke Välkommen Hem". For some reason, it brought to mind the return of a lost love one, who spent the last years in jail.
Anyway, we moved around the residence to the main entrance and peeked suspiciously at the door. It looked just like somebody lived there. No signs of a B&B and we could hear cutlery on a plate inside, as if somebody was eating. Stepping inside, disturbing images of the Fårö-cannibal cult aside, we came into a small porch, overcrowded by weird dolls and books about birdwatching. Then, there was a small dark reception, complete with a counter, on top of which stood a small plastic toyphone. A handwritten note on the counter stated a cellphone number to call if nobody was here. Just as I was hauling ass to get my camera from it's pack, a door opened behind us and the curtain that had been draped over it, parted. Out came... Thomas. A gaunt, lean man, wearing a rocker's vest with veined arms that looked like any drugaddict's wet dream. He grinned at us, looming from above, his head almost fully covered in sporadic facial hair and a huge pinkish bandana, complete with golden threads woven into it.
The rooms were special. We had ordered the Big Suite. In fact, it turned out to be the top floor of another house. Thomas and his daughter, Valeriene, owned the lot. They had every house for as long as the eye could see. There was Kutens Bensin, Creperie Tati, Bistro Albatrossen, a nightclub and the B&B Slow Train.

The Big Suit had a disturbing decor. No two chairs matched the others. Others were worn down to the point of one not being able to sit in them. The place was really worn down, and they had made it so quite intentionally. Rust, cracks, broken stuff, all over. The water in the toilet was yellow, like tea. Unfortunately, the tap water was the same color, so it wasn't the previous tenant who was forgetful. Still, the oddest part was probably that they had two masterful French cooks, who served the dinners, and a nightclub where some really world-famous bands and performers had had gigs. Slow Train is THE experience, let me tell you! Some of my pictures come up here, but be sure to check out my Flickr-account for the rest from Gotland!


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