ALONE IN
SWEDEN by
Alexander W McCall
Gamla Stan, Stockholm, Sweden
PAGE 2
In Stockholm
STOCKHOLM
the wind rises off the water and brushes against my face, bringing out
the muted color in my cheeks.
The
bright pastel buildings of
to fade as the sun drops below the horizon. by one, and night sets in.
I
Lights
The
Gamla Stan
slowly begin
across archipelago flicker on one
city is quiet but alive.
Day One, 26 October, 2012
nitially I’m terrified by the thought of traveling alone, but I refuse to let my fears restrict me. My safety isn’t my primary concern, but taking a holiday alone presents challenges in organization and personal responsibility. Disregarding all apprehensions, I lace my desert boots on Friday morning. With my trusty iPhone in one hand – the Swiss Army knife of electronics – and my passport in the other, I lock the door behind me and leave for the airport. Frozen remains of Thursday’s snow – the city’s first of the season – lie in the shadows of buildings. At crosswalks, Swedes press the button and wait patiently to cross the street. My hostel is large, but full of friendly people and character. Upon my arrival, I’m greeted by the hostel’s head receptionist Lena. She says my Swedish is surprisingly good, and she encourages me to sign up for Sunday’s Swedish cooking class. It is 3:30 p.m. and the sun is already beginning to disappear. I grab my city map and hop on the Tunnelbana, Stockholm’s metro, toward Gamla Stan. After a few wrong trains, I finally end up in Gamla Stan. The old town sits on a small island between Norrmalm and Södermalm. The cobblestone streets are shady and filled with a wide variety of tiny shops, many blatantly geared toward tourists seeking keepsakes. I wander until I find myself standing in front of Kunglingaslottet, the Royal Palace. The fleeting sun reflects on the water and the National Museum across the bridge.
Exhaustion begins to set in upon my return to the hostel. A few hours pass while I share stories with a couple from Melbourne, Australia, and a young man from Barcelona, Spain. The hostel’s lively atmosphere is welcoming and therapeutic to my self-induced culture shock, and I realize something is missing: food. Despite my Starbucks in the airport and cup of coffee on the airplane, I haven’t actually eaten anything. The lack of food and energy is a likely contributor to my temporary state of tiredness and melancholy. The young Spanish man recommends La Neta, a Mexican restaurant right down the street. A Mexican restaurant in Stockholm? Apprehensions aside, I make my way down the street – less than a fiveminute walk from the hostel – and stand in the queue. La Neta is packed with Swedes conversing loudly and eating tacos with forks and knives. My habit has become asking servers at restaurants for their recommendations. The tacos, filled with beef, chicken, cheese and a variety of other typical toppings, are fantastic, and likely better than some of the Mexican fare available in the United States. Though seemingly expensive (105 Swedish Kronor, or about $16 dollars), the meal was actually considered cheap because of Sweden’s high standard of living. Ignoring the cost, I return to my hostel happy and satiated. PAGE 3
scandinavian crush Days Two & Three, 27 & 28 October, 2012
Saturday morning, I do what I always do in a new city: I seek out a good cup of coffee. The young man at the hostel’s reception recommends a café three blocks away, so I immediately depart, in search of this famed Swedish coffee. Sweden is the world’s sixth-largest consumer of coffee, and Swedes are known for brewing an incredibly strong cup of joe. At 9:00 in the morning, Stockholm’s streets are eerily silent, and Café Esias doesn’t open for an hour. With the streets empty and the shops closed, an hour seems like a lot of time to kill. It is chilly, and my coat and scarf don’t prevent my ears from tinging with red. I wander up the city blocks of Norrmalm until I find myself at the bottom of a hill. My map indicates that an observatory sits at the top. At the hill’s peak, I can see across parts of the city, soaking in the morning sunlight. Inside the café, I strike up a conversation with the friendly, blonde barista. “En kopp kaffe, tack.” She asks what I’m doing in Stockholm and recommends that I take my coffee the Swedish way: strong and with milk. Accompanied by pain au chocolat, I take a seat at the window and open up my book. The coffee – steamy and aromatic – is less bitter than I expect. It is simply good. A perfect cup of coffee is hard to find, but this came really close. My afternoon is occupied with discovering the city. My first stop is the Musikmuseet, which includes interesting exhibits about the history of Swedish music (including 1970s hit makers ABBA). By the water, leaves cover the ground and bicycles gather around a tree. A long line of bicycles on a rack are marked SvD. These bikes belong to the city of Stockholm and can be used by anyone who purchases a bicycle card. I stroll down to the National Museum, one of the city’s several art museums, and make my way inside. The museum is filled with art by Swedish artists, including a large exhibit on the history of Swedish design. After my visit to the National Museum, I walk up and down the streets, completely abandoning my map. This is how I fall in love with Stockholm.
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Norrmalm, Stockholm, Sweden
Norrmalm, Stockholm, Sweden
Café Esias, Stockholm, Sweden
Norrmalm, Stockholm, Sweden
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Kulturehuset, Norrmalm, Stockholm, Sweden
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Östermalm, Stockholm, Sweden
Ed Droste of Grizzly Bear 27 October, 2012 – Bern’s Salonger When I found out Grizzly Bear was playing in Stockholm, I decided to go on a whim. I ended up making a new friend and meeting Ed after the show.
My final day in Stockholm is brief. Its brevity is exaggerated by the time change, bringing the sunset around 4:00 p.m. In my remaining hours of daylight, I spend the time hopping Östermalm, Stockholm, Sweden from museum to museum. In Östermalm, I start with the Historiskamuseet, then head toward the Noridskamuseet and the Vasamuseet. While the History Museum focuses upon the history of Scandinavian peoples – specifically Swedes – the Nordic Museum takes a deeper look at the many cultural aspects of Sweden, including holiday customs, fashions and Swedish houses. The Vasa Museum houses the famed Swedish warship which sank over 300 years ago. I ended my museum spree at Fotografiska, the museum of photography. The museum included the incredible exhibition “Boy Stories” by Swedish photographer Johan Östermalm, Stockholm, Sweden Willner. I return to the hostel, take a break in its free sauna (which was amazing, but Scandinavians like their saunas very, very hot) and prepare for my Swedish cooking class. We were set to fix a dish known as kroppkakor, or potato dumplings. The class is cancelled because of low attendance, but this leaves me with the opportunity to try a local restaurant called Tennstopet. The restaurant is quiet and dark, but fried herring with potatoes, lingonberries and knäckerbröd is fantastic. Served with a Swedish beer called Three Towns (in reference to Stockholm, Malmö and Göteborg), the meal is truly Swedish and delicious. I pack my things and prepare to say good bye to Stockholm in the morning. PAGE 7
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