Sveden, Ja! or, October in Sweden (Come Luge Wif Us)

Why Sweden?

If I had a krone for every time we told someone that we’re Canadian students studying in England, visiting Stockholm for the weekend, and they responded with a blank, searching look, as if they didn’t quite hear us, and asked, after a pause, “But . . . why Sweden?” – well, the krone’s basically worthless, so I wouldn’t exactly be rich, but it happened a bunch of times.

So, why Sweden?

The honest to God answer is the best one: I’m 22, and I’ve got a chance to do something I’ve never done before. What more reason do I need?

Midway through Ralph Fiennes’s performance in The Tempest – a play that ended up running long, or at least it seemed long because we were in the nosebleed, wooden seat section, but I still really enjoyed – I looked at my watch. A bit after 9 o’clock.

We’re leaving for Stockholm in five hours.No sleep 'til Stockholm was our mantra going into this thing.

It didn’t help that we missed our train back to Harlow after the show, and had to get a train to Harlow Town instead – that’s about a half hour walk from the old part of town where we’re staying, and even though we ended up taking cabs, it’s wasn’t exactly the parade of Jiffy Cabs at the end of George Street. By the time I made it to bed, it was pushing 1 o’clock.

When my alarm went off at 2:30, people were still up in the common room. Suffice to say, glasses stayed on.

There were eight of us that were up for the adventure of Sweden in October. Any horror stories people had about Ryanair – the “cheap” airline in Europe, and if I had a krone for every time someone mentioned their hidden fees, I might actually be kind of rich – ended up being unfounded. The bus to Stansted airport came, right on time (3:08. Jaysus), and we made it through all the hoops and obstacles at the airport fine. It was still dark by the time we boarded our flight, which, get this North Americans, doesn’t have assigned seating. It’s like a whole other world over here. 

 This is blurry because I fell asleep mid-focus

They also sell perfume and scratch tickets midflight – at least, they did on the way back from Sweden. From the moment we left the runway I couldn’t tell you a single thing about the Ryanair flight experience, except that there’s literal fanfare when you land on time. Turns out I couldn’t tell you much about the bus ride we had to take to get into Stockholm either – I only got about an hour and a half sleep in my bed, but I banked a solid few along the way.

The first thing that was obvious about Sweden was that it was cold. Though there was no snow, the air had an autumn bite to it – and so it should, since Stockholm is about 10 degrees north of Pasadena. That’s more than 1,100 km farther north, and I’ve bundled up pretty warm on Halloweens of yore back home

But, it was also a clean, natural looking spot. Skavsta Airport was actually an hour and a half’s bus drive outside of Stockholm, and so I got a glimpse of tall trees and vast fields in the two minutes before I completely passed out.

Once we’d made it to the city, it kind of dawned on us how messed up our bodies were by this point, with no sleep or food (unless you count that Guiness at the airport). Strange city, stranger language, and eight people mostly irritable – if only Clarke Griswald could have seen us now.

Took care of the food situ by having authentic Swedish cuisine at a taco bar chain restaurant, creatively called Taco Bar. The rain was starting to peck when we ran to the Stockholms tunnelbana station, the underground metro. Even though it included stop with names like Kungsträdgården and Midsommarkransen, it was still simpler than the London Underground.

Fun fact for anyone heading to Stockholm in the future: don’t bother buying a pass for the underground. Ten out of ten Swedes have mastered the art of getting through the subway gates without paying, and even though there are guards sitting behind booths at the end of each station, none of them even look up. I feel like buying a ticket is just a friendly suggestion, and tourists are probably the only ones that do it.

Stockholm is renowned for being a beautiful city (including its people – shite, I didn’t find the blond Swedish gymnast of my dreams, but I did find a lot of contenders), but Västberga – the suburb where we were staying – didn’t fit that description. It looked something like the Venture Centre in Pasadena – all square buildings, roads, and curiously lacking any signs of life. For a while, it felt like we’d walked onto 28 Days Later.

If we’d thought about accommodations earlier, we’d likely have been able to come up with a cheap hostel for the two nights we were in Stockholm. As it was, Hotell Västberga was our only option for our number – it still ended up being cheaper than a hotel in Canada, but the travelling community feel of hostels wasn’t there. We got two four-person rooms adjacent to each other and agreed on a power nap for a few hours before bundling up and exploring the city.

Stockholm is a city built on the water, an archipelago of 14 islands built at the mouth of Lake Mälaren, near to where it flows into the Baltic Sea. It looks undeniably European, especially in Gamla stan, the old town in central Stockholm where people rides Vespas and segues, cars drive over uneven cobblestone roads, buildings are old and narrow, and everyone is basically one of the bad guys from Die Hard.

 Watch out - those charming bastards might kill you

Eight is a much easier number to travel with than eighteen, but it's still a juggling act. It didn’t help that we were still running on fumes. We saw some of the city by the night, but it became obvious that we needed to find somewhere to sit down and have a drink.

Our lucky streak held out: the first place we found was Wiströms Pub, a spot with a 200-year history that has a standard-looking barroom on the main floor, but beneath is the Jameson Cellar, a twisting, winding cave. It was squat and narrow, but an incredibly cool, authentic feel to it. It was never built for large crowds of revellers – it was probably an actual cellar in its hayday, and that atmosphere was totally worth being sweaty and cramped. In the main downstairs room, little bigger than the rest of the winding rooms that branched out from it, there was a jazzy rock band playing. No stage or anything – they were like members of the audience who just happened to have microphones. Everyone was there for a party, and wanted to have a chat and a laugh. And to ask us, “Why Sweden?”

*          *          *

Come the morning, the sun was up but the air was still cool. I wanted to check out a boat tour through the archipelago while the weather was nice, and so once everyone was roused, we grabbed a subway to Strandvägen, a boulevard on the edge of the water lined with boats. The boat left at 1:30 in the afternoon, which gave just enough time to look for a café and get barmped at by another boat for sitting on the edge of its mooring spot.

The boat tour, onboard the m/s Östanå I – built in 1906, and still retaining an old-school charm and feel – took about 3 hours, and went from the sleek, stone city to the wooded islands dotting the bay. Stockholm stretches much farther than I realized, and quickly takes on a much quainter feel. If it wasn’t for the buildings, none of which were really much alike, I could almost have believed we were on Bonne Bay for a moment. Almost.

The boat tour ended up being one of the major highlights of the trip, just because the sweeping geography of an ancient city built on the water over such a vast distance is pure sublime.

“Well really, if you’re going to travel anywhere,” Harry said with mock-pretension, “I can only recommend Sweden in October.”

It was cold though, especially where a few of us were standing on the front of the boat. Really, really cold – this was the first time I was legitimately cold since I’ve come to Europe. But, we had a great time, lots of laughs, and even though we couldn’t hear anything coming over the speakers and missed out on all the trivia, we had a front-row seat. I’m pretty sure that ends up being much better.

After we came ashore, we wandered a bit, looking for somewhere to warm up and find an ATM. Remember Vanilla Coke? They still have it here in Europe – though it’s not as good as I remember it.

Before I went to Sweden, Mary offered her two cents worth when she said that reindeer were domesticated in Scandinavia much like cows in North America, and that they were a choice delicacy in that part of the world. Delicious, she said, even though it’s difficult to shake off the thought that you’re eating Rudolph. We wandered through Gamla stan for a while, looking for a place that would dish out the deer for us uncultured Canadians.

Finally ended up at Glenfiddich Warehouse, an upscale restaurant with a reindeer as their logo. Jackpot – and that’s about what it cost us, too. Whatever. How often do you get to have a fillet of reindeer? And, guess what? It was wicked, like the choicest cut of steak I’ve ever had. 

 Granted, I could have had more

Not quite full, we wandered uptown a bit farther to the Nordic Sea Hotel. The hotel had a very cool, twenty-first century vibe to it, with classy people drinking classy drinks in the classy lounge, but that wasn’t why we ended up there (if a pint in a Stockholm cave costed nearly ten bucks Canadian, I don’t want to think what a cocktail here would have cost). Within the hotel is the world’s first permanent ice bar – a room where, other than the cash register and the vodka mixed drinks, everything is ice: the walls, the tables, and the glasses. After waiting in the queue, we were issued into a room where they gave a thermal cloak with mittens attached. The place isn’t huge and can only accommodate about 60 people at a time – you pay for an hour stint in the bar. Not exactly a place where you’re going to go on a regular basis, but it was a cool (bahahaha) experience. The bar plays electronic dance music while pulsing lights make a spectacular visual display on the sculpted ice walls. Maybe the concept was a bit overhyped, but it was still a lot of fun.

Plus, I got to wash down my reindeer with a mixed drink called the reindeer, served in a glass made of ice. Who does that?

This one is shamelessly stolen from Lor, don't sue me 

After that, we took another stroll through the old town, before settling on Restaurant Sankta Clara. Another chance, another stab in the dark, and another complete success: this spot also had an underground cave thing going on, a jazzy blues jam session in a squat chamber downstairs, and tons of friendly people. An America dude bought us shots. A Swedish guy talked politics with a passion, because they actually mean something over here. A Viking made a completely inappropriate pass at Morgan. What a spot.

Any night that ends with you stealing a Peter Pan hat laying around the bar and joining the band at the mic (even though you’ve never heard the song before) is a good night.

*          *          *

Sunday morning was cool again but sunny; we were up in time for the continental breakfast, packed and checked out before lunchtime. We had heard about Ekoparken, a huge (27 km²) natural city park (actually, the world’s first) in the midst of Stockholm, but had no clue as to where to find it. When the girl behind the front desk pleaded ignorance, I was starting to assume it wasn’t real, and just a giant ruse for stupid tourists. Still, we trusted fate and rode the subway to Stockholm University.

If that wasn’t Ekoparken we found, then Stockholm University just has the best university campus in the world. Simple as that. Just behind the university buildings was a huge field with a little winding trail going through it. From a subway station to the middle of nowhere, it only took a few minutes. Buildings were replaced by towering trees and blue sky. We kept going further, until we were practically in a fairytale forest. Strewn leaves on the ground, mossy hillsides, little lakes – I think we wound up in the Shire somehow. Every so often, someone would pass us, ridden on a horse. Absolutely gorgeous, you could easily lose yourself in the forests and trails, or spend an entire afternoon sitting at the edge of a lake. It felt like a fall day in the Humber Valley.

Love this shot, too bad it's not mine - stolen from Morgan

We only scratched the surface of the park. I guess the rest will have to wait until I end up back in Sweden – who knows, maybe next October.

Our flight out was in the evening, around 9 o’clock, but we aimed to leave Stockholm by 6. That gave us a few hours for shopping and exploring Gamla stan properly. We separated fairly early, and myself and Lor went from the water’s edge to Riksdagen, the Swedish Parliament buildings, with a few shops in between. I didn’t want to splurge on touristy crap, but I found a Viking store where you could buy a horn mug, made from an actual ox horn. If I could only find some mead now, I’m all set.

Bade farewell to Stockholm in dusk and let the bus whisk us back to the airport. I had exactly 56 kroner left, which was just what I needed for a sandwich (that was the weirdest thing about Stockholm; you felt rich with your wads of kroner, before you remembered to convert it. By the end of the trip, I was decidedly not rich - I could never afford to go back for another weekend). Another whirlwind trip, but I feel like we got a fair taste of Stockholm – and, with the amount we actually did in nature, a bit of a legitimate feel for Scandinavia, too.

Ryanair, which prides itself on being on time, was actually late taking off, and we made it back to Stansted a bit after 11 o’clock. Getting through Swedish customs was easy; getting back into the UK was another matter. A flight from Morocco had arrived at the same time, and the wait to see a border officer took ages. It seemed that way anyway, since we were right next to two drunk dudes straddling the line (oh, that thin proverbial line) between funny and obnoxious.

I clearly have a knack for getting in trouble with English customs officers. “Are you working?” he asked.

“No,” I said, knowing better. “I’m a student.”

“How many hours are you in class?”

Shat, I have no idea. “Five maybe?”

“Five a day?” says he.

“No, a week. I’m only part-time, I guess.”

He then gave me a look, a look that said, “I can’t believe you just gave me that answer. I hope you liked Sweden a lot, because you’re going right the hell back there.”

So, long story short, I’m writing this from a street corner in Stockholm. It’s dropping below freezing tonight, so this is actually going to double as my last will and testament.

Ahhh jokes, I made it through after I showed him the letter D. Nix gave us to get into Heathrow last month. No worries.

We ended up back at Harlow just past two in the morning. After sleeping on planes, busses, and a hotel bed, my bed back at the Maltings, even with the spot where the spring drives into your back, felt comfortably familiar. Sometimes though, being unfamiliar is a good thing. Sometimes, it’s a great thing.

Why Sweden? Why not.

Turkey and free wine for supper tonight at my new home away from home. Happy Thanksgiving to everyone back in my real home.

Cheers,

rb