Life as a Swede #5 – Changes

The weather in Stockholm is shifting and the curtain is starting to descend on what has been an absolutely splendid Summer in Sweden. As I glance over blog posts and photographs of the last 3 months, I feel incredibly humbled to have experienced such a perfect welcome to my new home. My first Swedish summer was absolutely jam-packed with positive and lovely memories that I will treasure for the rest of my life. 

And so now, it’s starting to change. August is drawing to a close, taking Summer with it. Most people have returned from vacation, the trains are fuller, the clouds are darker and more layers of clothing are being begrudgingly dragged out of wardrobes. Impending Winter is already on the tips of tongues and there’s a real sense of Autumn being a sort of ‘preparation before hibernation’ period. People (mainly expats) have already started asking me what my Survival Plan for Winter is, as if it’s more important than planning for Christmas. “Have you started stocking up on Vitamin D tablets yet?” “Tablets? No, no, you have to find your local sauna and book a session a week now!” “Guys, guys, it’s all about Bikram yoga. Every morning. I couldn’t have stayed here without it.” My work colleagues have already introduced me to the electric blankets and heat-packs they have in stored in the cupboards, reassuring me that it’s highly unlikely that I will become a Sheona-shaped ice cube whilst in the office over Winter, although I’m not so convinced…

Terrifying winter planning aside, with this change comes the general feeling of everyone being a bit more settled and getting back into their ‘real’ lives again. Some could find it a bit depressing… but I think it’s nice. 

I just realised today that during the 8 months that has made up 2016 so far, I have lived in London, packed up my life in London, spent 5 weeks in Australia, moved to Stockholm, moved to a second apartment in Stockholm and gone on lots of little trips to Portugal, various places around the UK and around Sweden. Plus, I moved here a day before Eurovision, which I think a small part of me is still recovering from. It will be a welcome change to stop and chill for a bit and actually focus on being here. To truly realise that this is my world now and feel what a real life in Stockholm is actually like… albeit whilst slowly freezing to my death.

Along with the weather comes the second recent change in my Swedish life. The fact that I’m now doing Stockholm on my own. 

The world got dramatically smaller with all the calls, texts and messages – it’s nice to be reminded that no matter where I am in the world, I can never feel lonely. Naturally, many friends and family members asked me what I was going to do now, and would I be coming home? I hadn’t even considered it. 

A relationship ending doesn’t change the fact that Stockholm, and Sweden in general, is absolutely fantastic. This is a city of innovation, youth and vibrance. And, while we give Swedes stick for sometimes being hard to get to know, kindness and support really are abundant here – something I’ve experienced an incredible amount of recently. 

Stockholm is big enough to feel lost in, but also small enough to feel warm (hopefully that continues!) and familiar. I love that the barista at Odenplan Waynes Coffee knows me and my order, even though we’ve never actually introduced ourselves. It’s wonderful that the waitress at Greasy Spoon and I are now friends and are learning Swedish together. I met my new Aussie mate a day before I was actually meant to meet her… on the tube… sat opposite each other…with only a facebook profile picture and a wave of confidence on her behalf to introduce herself. One of my pop idols from the early 2000s is now one of my best friends here and the new Swedish friends I’ve made are some of the most genuine people I’ve ever met. 

Why on earth would I leave this place?

A year ago, I never would have guessed I’d be living in Sweden. To be fair, I didn’t have much of an idea of where I’d be living at all, but Sweden was certainly not on my radar. But this move has been, and still is, such a pleasant life surprise and I really do feel (at the risk of sounding like a bra-less, tie-dyed hippy) that I’m meant to be here.

So, expect many more Swedish stories and many more Swedish adventures – we’ve only just begun! This funny little country is my funny little home now and I can’t wait to see what the next funny little chapter brings…although, probably investing in some woolen jackets might make the stay a bit more comfortable!

Life as a Swede Post #4 Swedish Summer and Gotland.

It was only a few days ago when I was sitting at my small Ikea table, sunburnt from a balmy hot day in Stockholm, known as 22 degrees. I was the colour of a ripe jordgubbe and I was dazed, probably substantially dehydrated, and truly ashamed to call myself an Australian because it seemed my skin was now barely able to survive what’s considered an average autumn day at home. Mind you, I don’t think I’ve suntanned this much since cruiseship days #NewSwedishActivities 

Man, Stockholm has been weird the last few weeks. Like, utterly splendid, don’t get me wrong – but weird. The whole country has seemingly tossed all responsibility to the wind and gone on holiday. Most Stockholmies simply disappeared to their summer houses that were peppered throughout the archipelago or on other islands, leaving the rest of Stockholm in a sort of Shock…holm.

The remaining debris of Stockholm’s population hasn’t quite known what to do with itself. Many restaurants and shops have been closed, public transport has been near empty, the streets have been eerily deserted, my Swedish school has had no interest in holding classes over the last 6 weeks, it’s been impossible to find a dry cleaners open after 3pm and so the residents of Stockholm still sticking it out have had no choice but to succumb to a forced summer holiday of our own. 

There are worse predicaments…

The general lifestyle has been lots of working from home, suntanning on lunch breaks, drinking outside in pop-up bars, suntanning after work, long morning walks, suntanning on Saturdays, being awake until 1am effortlessly, suntanning on Sundays, going away on weekends (suntanning) and sleeping with the windows open…whilst dreaming of more places to suntan. Let’s be clear, I’m most certainly not complaining about this vacation mentality, I’m loving this stress-free vibe, but it is bizarre feeling like you’re on holiday, but knowing you’re not. Definitely not a situation I’ve experienced in any other country I’ve lived in. 

I guess one of the biggest things to get used to whilst lapping up this mandatory ‘enjoy yourself it’s Summer’ mantra is this sort of pause on progression in life. It’s bloody hard finding enough friends still in the city to have a brunch, let alone to start getting new projects off the ground. No, none of that. It’s Summer, Swede, and Sweden says ‘chill the fuck out.’ So I’ve been doing exactly that. So, sorry for the delay in blog posts, but…ya know…Summer. Sweden’s orders. 

We should probably talk about Gotland. I have a feeling you’ll be hearing more about Gotland the longer this blog stays in existence.

Gotland, to put it simply, is perfection. A slice of heaven in island form. Easily my favourite place in Sweden so far, and definitely one of my favourite places in the world.

Firstly, you have the main town of Visby. A beautiful village that popped up in the 12th century and has been wonderfully preserved since. Around 3km of medieval wall is still almost entirely intact and continues to encircle the town centre. Nowadays, properties respectfully incorporate this structure, with venues featuring interiors of exposed medieval wall and homes sprouting out from the ancient stone towers. Inside the wall, multiple ruins of once grand churches, hundreds of years old, are still standing strong amongst the ocean of multi-coloured limestone houses. Dotted all around the town are these life-sized stone sheep with huge horns and no legs that look like they’ve perhaps sunk into the ground over the last few hundred years and happily remained there. Cobblestone paths snake through the old town, manoeuvering travellers past exquisite privately owned restaurants, creperies, shops and stalls. I swear every restaurant must have been put through some kind of rigorous evaluation to meet a minimum standard of excellence before being permitted to set up in Old Town Visby. Honestly, every morsel of food that’s touched my lips has been divine. A particular favourite was Surfers, which served up the most delectable Chinese I’ve ever had. This ain’t no town for Maccas.

A favourite thing to do in Visby has been to climb a section of the medieval wall and sit on top, with bottles of beers and close friends and watch a sunset over the ocean.

And all that is just Visby! Other sections of Gotland showcase beautiful farmland, rolling fields, Australian-style beaches, lush vegetation and winding roads. We even found a secret swimming spot at Smögen, where you could swim over and into an abandoned industrial quarry building, now covered in graffiti.

A particularly remarkable place in the north of Gotland is Furillen, where we visited for a special meal experience by Agrikultur, boasting one of Sweden’s Best Chefs. Furillen is an old Limestone quarry that then became a military base, which then became a nature reserve and hotel with a fabulous restaurant. The infrastructure from its history is all still there, including limestone mounds and abandoned quarry carts. It was a breathtaking backdrop to a mind-blowing meal. We just so happened to sit next to internationally acclaimed author Håkan Nesser and his wife, who were nice enough to invite us back to their (jaw droppingly) beautiful house briefly so he could gift us signed copies of his books. Incidentally, he gave me two copies of the same book – one in English, one in Swedish and scrawled ‘Your first textbook in Swedish!’ in the latter.

There’s a cool smaller island above Gotland, called Fårö, reachable only by ferries from Gotland. It was the place where Ingmar Bergman lived and filmed many of his masterpieces. The island is also home to these crazy rock formations that have eroded over centuries, similar to Victoria’s 12 apostles, that feature on the Swedish 200 kroner note. One looked remarkably like an old man’s face with droopy cheeks.

Fårö, like Gotland, feeds you like you’re royalty. A very special meal was the lunch we had at Crêperie Tati på Kutens Bensin – a rundown restaurant in a field, in the middle of absolutely nowhere, where old American cars, motorbikes, petrol pumps and refrigerators covered in rust played a ramshackled backdrop to perfected French-style galettes and crepes, whilst old soul tunes rattled out of a 50s jukebox. Completely unexpected, but it completely worked.

Perhaps the experience of Crêperie Tati på Kutens Bensin is similar to Gotland as a whole. Gotland is always so surprising, so left of centre, but then so excellent in everything it delivers. I’ve never experienced anything like it. For an island only  3,000 square kms in size, it is jam-packed with culture, history and a variety of activities, and yet it is also such an escape. I can totally see why Nesser, Bergman and other creatives were and continue to be drawn to it.

Thankfully, there’s still another couple of weeks left of the strange Swedish Summer, which includes another weekend trip to wonderful Gotland. The ferry can’t get me there sooner!

My really romantic/unromantic date – Milan, Italy

June 5th, 2013.

The train was crowded and I was hanging onto a handle above my head, trying hard not to body slam into the commuters surrounding me. I’d been in Milan, Italy about 4 hours and was making my way back to my hostel after checking out the Duomo and shopping strip. My eyes drifted around the jam-packed carriage and my eyes locked with someone else’s. A tall, handsome man dressed in a smart, tailored suit returned my gaze with a small smile. I smiled back then looked away, slightly embarrassed I’d been sprung people watching. As the train ride continued and the carriages began emptying, I noticed the same handsome stranger stealing glances at me and when I finally met his gaze again he smiled, smoothly walked over to me, grabbed the same pole I was hanging onto and very quietly said “Ciao”, to which I replied, in my very best italian accent “Ciao”. He then went on to babble something scrumptious to me in Italian, exposing my complete lack of Italian vocabulary. I stumbled through a sentence explaining that I don’t speak Italian and he chuckled. Reaching my station, I thought it would be the end of this little romantic encounter and when we both got off at the next station, I exited with my very best strut, flashing him a smile as I zoomed away.
Feeling pretty good about myself, I waited on the platform for my connecting train, and I noticed the same tall, dark, handsome man waiting for the same train. He seemed pretty stoked to find me again and walked over. It wasn’t long before the train came and he asked me if I wanted to have a coffee with him. I blushed and said ‘Si, Ok!’

Not going to lie, I looked around me for cameras and a crew videoing this perfect romantic encounter. You hear about people meeting on trains randomly all the time and, if you’re like me, those people do your head in with their stupidly beautiful romantic stories, because you never actually think it would happen to you! My mind wondered to how this story would play out – we’d clumsily communicate with each other, not speaking the same language but understanding each other perfectly. He’d probably be a superstar business man (hence the hot suit) and be really rich, he’d take me out for dinner that night in his ridiculous car and we’d have a gorgeous dinner, followed by a romantic stroll through the streets of Milan.

That’s what I thought would happen anyway…

Unfortunately there’s that little thing abundant in life that is severely lacking in movies – reality. Turns out there’s not very much you can talk about if you don’t speak the same language – who’da thought! We’ve all heard a story about someone meeting their partner without speaking the same language – “we couldn’t talk to each other but we totally communicated, ya know?”
I don’t buy it. What do you actually do if you can’t speak to the person you’re with!? And don’t say what I know you’re thinking, because you can’t do that ALL the time, and certainly not in a cafe. We had exhausted all the English/Italian vocabulary between us after about 5 minutes (before the coffees had even arrived) and after that it was just an awkward, nervous-laughing, horrible conversation of guessing what the other person was talking about, or thinking you were going ok until you realise you have been talking about two completely different things for the past 5 minutes. It was so stressful!
To make matters worse, my tall, handsome stranger thought the date was going really well and kept trying to hold my hand over the table. Look, I’m not a robot, I’m all for public displays of affection… when I’m in a relationship… or with someone I really dig… I’m not so enthusiastic to touch someone who I’ve met for 15 minutes and I’m struggling to pronounce their name. Maybe being quite forward on a date is all the rage in Italy – personally, I was wishing I had my travel bottle of Dettol Antiseptic handwash on me. After about half an hour of exhausting conversations, hand signals (mainly to keep them out of reach) and a pen and paper, I learnt that my ‘dreamboat’ was 22 (I’m 26) and lives at home with his mum. Sexy. If the romantic scenario I’d envisaged couldn’t be more inaccurate, the final brick to shatter my dreams was the fact that his beautiful, tailored, rich-businessman suit was actually thanks to his job as a… wait for it… security guard at a fashion store.

*Sigh*

It certainly was an interesting start to my time in Milan and, to his credit, he was a perfectly friendly, nice and good guy. When I left the cafe (to get to the ‘dinner I was late for’) he gave me his details to add him on Facebook. I actually considered adding him, until he lent in and planted a fat kiss onto my forehead. My forehead! What am I, your niece!??!

No. Just no.

Getting to Malmo…

I had a brief, but interesting stop over in Copenhagen. After an insane leg in Amsterdam, I was simply exhausted. I had slept about 40 minutes the night before and the effects of multiple days of running around the city, followed by multiple nights of ridiculousness was taking it’s toll on my body. On the plane ride over to Copenhagen, an American girl, Louise, and I tried to nap, but the flight was so short it wasn’t much more than a doze. Her brother was studying in Copenhagen and met her at the airport, so the three of us caught the train out of the airport together.
After settling in my hostel (which was a 45minute grumpy mission to get to), I went to a laundromat to wash pretty much everything in my pack. The laundromat had a brilliant cafe attached to it. I couldn’t figure out how to work the machines (I’m not that bad a spaz, they were surprisingly difficult!), so I turned to ask the guy behind me, who was pulling his clothes out of the dryer for help.
‘Excuse me, can you help me?’ I asked in very clear, concise, easy-to-understand English.
‘Yeh, no worries mate’ a thick Australian accent replied.
Instantly, we started babbling away and, once the washing machine was on, we sat down and had dinner together.
His name was Chris (I think!?) and he did Marathons and competed in Iron Man competitions all over the world. He and his partner were currently spending a lot of time in Europe, particularly France, and we exchanged details so that we might catch up when I get to Paris. He was very friendly, we had great discussions about American gun laws, French people and healthy eating. I appreciated his company while I was waiting for my clothes to wash – he didn’t have to stay but he did and it was really nice of him.

That night, I didn’t feel very social so I stayed at the hostel where I then accidently ended up chatting the night away over too many red wines with an English guy called Lee. Lee has been involved in the music industry, particularly touring, so we had a lot to cackle about.

After minimal sleep (damn 3am dorm room arrivals) I was feeling even more exhausted, hungover and rotten, plus I’d forgotten to figure out how I was getting to the train station to catch my 10am train to Malmo!
Skipping breakfast, hair and makeup, I bolted out the door with my pack. I must have looked as horrendous as I felt, because that morning people were very sympathetic towards my helplessness. When I boarded a bus, without enough Danish Kroner for a ticket or any idea where I was going, the bus driver let me ride for free and a local lady on the bus offered to escort me to the station. Ridiculously nice of both of them. You know when you’re so tired that when someone does something nice to you it makes you want to cry? Yep – that was me.

I collapsed onto the Malmo train, passed out on it and nearly missed the Malmo Central stop. I had organised to stay with a Swedish girl called Emma through AirBnb and when I arrived she instantly gathered me up in a big hug and suddenly I was energised again. We got along effortlessly and I was delighted with her gorgeous open-plan apartment. After settling in, Emma went off to work and, after a nap, I ventured to Eurovision Village in the heart of Malmo.

Leaving the apartment for the village, still dazed and confused, it finally hit me – I had made it to Malmo.

The night I hitch hiked to Amsterdam…

The bar was set high for Amsterdam – and the craziness started before I had even left London.

My flight to Amsterdam was scheduled for 7:30am from Gatwick airport, London. Being a shitty time to travel, I pre-purchased my train ticket to get me from Stratford to Gatwick train station and my tickets indicated that multiple trains I could take were leaving from 3am. I left Nieke’s at 2:30am, on an hour or so of sleep, and stumbled to Stratford station, complete with pack, ready for my next adventure.
When I got to the station I was greeted with dark gates and giant padlocks, without anyone to be seen. Slightly confused, I wondered around the station to the shopping complex it was attached to, attempting to find an alternate entrance. I bumped into a group of tradies erecting signs for the shopping complex and, whilst they highly doubted any trains would be running at this time, they suggested that I try the Stratford International station 10 mins away. It started to drizzle as I awkwardly jogged with my pack to Stratford International train, praying for lights, trains and people – instead I was greeted with more dark gates and giant padlocks. Panic set in. I was alone, stranded and, most importantly, I WAS GOING TO MISS MY FLIGHT TO AMSTERDAM!!! Feeling helpless, I started wondering back to the Westfield, desperately trying to nut out a contingency plan. A cab would cost 150-200 pounds as it was over an hour drive, and that’s if one would be in the area at this time to hail. Buses were scarce and would probably take so long I’d miss the flight anyway. I was screwed. On the verge of tears, I walked past the same group of tradies working on the signs again. Sensing my distress, the guys tried to offer suggestions, and then one perked up “Oh why don’t one of us just drive you?”

A ride to the airport… a free ride to the airport… a free, but potentially dangerous, ride to the airport. I could hear mum’s voice clear as a bell in my head “now, just don’t do anything stupid while you’re away, like wander around on your own late at night or get in a stranger’s car.” About to break my promise on both of these pieces of advice, I quickly weighed up the pros and cons – either I don’t go with one of these guys, I don’t get to Amsterdam, I pay for another ticket and I miss out on time there and I’m angry about it. Or, I just bloody hitch a ride there and get to Amsterdam now.

Sorry mum, I have officially hitch-hiked in London in the middle of the night. But I got to Amsterdam! Ryan, who drove me, was simply lovely, and I’m eternally grateful for him helping me out that cold, stressful morning. There are good eggs still in the world – and without those guys, I would have missed out on 3 of the most craziest/interesting days and nights of my life.