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Traveling with Edgar Allan PoeQrisses story about traveling in Edgar Allan Poe's footsteps.Once being accepted to be a "watcher" at the Edgar Allan Poe birthday celebration in Baltimore, I decided to take a week off from work, and travel from Sweden to the United States. I just could not miss this opportunity to be a part of something so special, and to meet all the people I had only seen in electronic form. The trip started with a four hour train trip to Stockholm, Sweden, where I spent the night at my uncle's place. The next day, January 13, 1998, I headed for Arlanda, Stockholm international airport, and started the long flight to the United States, via Amsterdam, Holland. When the plane from Amsterdam was over Canadian territory, I tried to fill out the green immigration form, that you need to fill in to enter the United States. I asked the woman beside me how to fill in some of the fields in the form, and when I set the Edgar Allan Poe pen, from the Richmond Poe Museum, down to write the next word, the pen leaked and stained my hand with black ink. I think Edgar Allan Poe knew I was on my way. As if the transatlantic plane ride wasn't long enough, I had to get on a domestic flight to get from Detroit, Michigan, to Richmond, Virginia, but after 18 hours of constant traveling I finally touched ground, just to go on a ninety minute car ride to Farmville, Va., where I was staying with Martha Womack, also known as Precisely Poe to most internet users. She and I met on the Internet in the spring of 1997, and together with three other Americans we started the project, The Poe Decoder. ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() The toast was to be held the next day, so I had to spend the night in the hotel translating the written toast to Swedish, a task that was harder than it appeared. It occurred to me how corny some things sound in Swedish while they sound completely natural in English. I was well aware of the fact that no one, or very few, would understand what I said, still I felt like I wanted to make this right, to honor someone who have changed my life very much, Mr. Edgar Allan Poe. The next night was the climax of the celebration. Actors, dressed up as characters from Poe's work, walked around in the audience, David Keltz performed several of Poe's works appearing as Edgar himself, Gray Seal Puppets made a beautiful performance honoring Poe's life and work, and many other performances were held, all very professional, and Edgar would most certainly have enjoyed every minute of it. At the end of the night, it was time for the toast. Needless to say I was very nervous. The church was crowded with people who did not even speak my language, in a country almost four thousand miles away from my own. I was determined to just move on if I lost myself in the middle of the toast, but did I? Oh no, the words were completely gone, my head was empty, and I leaned in to look at my notes, which looked very blurry at the moment, and as the Swede I am, I utter a word that has no place in a former church. What word it was is not important, but since I have decided to not use unmotivated profanities on my webpages, it is probably wise not to mention it here. ![]() Maybe it was the first mistake of the evening, but unfortunately it would not be the last. Martha and I were going to see some friends we came in contact with on the Internet. They went ahead of us, to the inner harbor area in Baltimore. Jeff Savoye, treasurer of the Edgar Allan Poe Society of Baltimore, was kind enough to take us there later, and we discovered that the restaurant we had decided on - was closed, at 11 p.m. We searched several other restaurants in the area, but we never found David, Carey, and their friends. So much for night-life in Baltimore. ![]() ![]() The night was beautiful and clear, and people were hanging on the gates of Westminster Church Yard, to get a glimpse of this mysterious man. Because of the nice weather we prepared for a long night, would these people ever leave? Some of them were reporters, and we all know reporters do not give up easily. Revealing the identity of this man, is in nobody's interest, except for maybe the reporters. But wherein lies the news-value of shattering one of the few mysteries that still remain in the world? Martha, Jeff Savoye, and myself, were seated facing the backside of the church yard, where the marker of Poe's original grave is placed. Waiting in anticipation, the clock struck midnight, it was the 19th of January, 1998, Edgar Allan Poe's 189th birthday, and as it did, a black cat strolled right across Poe's original grave. Edgar Allan Poe was still with us, trying to make us feel the significance of this event, as if we didn't already. We waited and waited, I got only one and a half hours of sleep the previous night, and now time kept moving, 1 a.m., 2 a.m., 3 a.m., and then... somebody yells "It's him." The man, dressed in pretty conventional clothes, runs into the church yard, despite the people at the front gates, and he quickly comes and leaves his tribute to Poe, and run away, as fast as he got there. ![]() Before we left Baltimore later in the day, I wanted to put roses on Edgar Allan Poe's grave, so we visited a florist, and I put three roses on Virginia's, Maria's, and Edgar's grave, one on Edgar's original grave, and one in General David Poe's grave, Edgar's grandfather. As we walk out of the cemetery, we see a man with a TV camera zooming in on our flowers, and when I got back to Sweden, I received an email from a girl in New Orleans, that saw my name on the card attached to the roses. It's a small world... This Monday was not only the end of the Edgar Allan Poe birthday celebration, but also the day before I was to go back to Sweden. After driving all the way back to Farmville, Va., with a stop at Red Lobster in Richmond, we had a short night's sleep and were preparing for my return to the land of the Viking, good ole Sweden. Even if I love my country, I did fell in love with the United States while I was there, so it was very sad to leave the country behind me. Martha took me to Richmond International Airport, I shed a few tears, and returned to reality. Is all that we see or seem, but a dream within a dream? |