Jeff Jones's bilgespot.com: Stockholm syndrome

Stockholm de la nuit
© Jeff Jones

In booking my ticket to Stockholm, I had set my sights on flying from Luton airport, north west of London. Why? Because it was closer than Stansted airport. Unfortunately, when I got to Luton airport on a rainy Friday morning, I was faced with a small dilemma: I was at Luton, but the aeroplane was going to leave from Stansted.

This wasn't a fault of Ryanair in any way. It was mine for not actually reading my flight itinerary. I only did so while ingesting a fine foodstuff from the Luton airport cafe, which combined with a largish cappuccino made for a truly epicurean experience (You may detect a hint of sarcasm there). So after gulping down the rest of my beverage, I decided on a course of Action.

"How long will it take you to drive me to Stansted," I asked a taxi driver.

"About 45-50 minutes," came the reply. "And it'll cost you about 68-70 quid."

There was no other way to do it in time, and I got in. We drove at high speed for an hour and five minutes and I can tell you that Stansted is in the middle of bloody nowhere. It did come to £68, but I made the flight - just.

The airport security is even more ridiculous than it ever has been. You can't take liquids on board that are in containers of more than 100 mL. So 120 mL of liquid explosive is banned, but 100 mL is OK, as long as you put all the containers in a clear plastic bag. And you've now got to take off your shoes, in case you are trying to impersonate Rosa Klebb or something.

Clearly, the terrorists have won.

Välkommen Till Sverige

The flight was uneventful, except that I somehow managed to sit in a row of five gay Portuguese guys, who spent a large part of the trip flirting with the flight steward. He didn't seem to mind, but anyway.

The main reason for my trip was to visit my friend and occasional colleague Gabbi, who lives in Stockholm together with her boyfriend Robin and a large and growing number of birds, fish, and even a sugar glider. They'd recently come back from Brazil, and Gabbi also did a three month trip to Africa this year. All this in between working three jobs!

After my eighth transport connection, I finally made it to their apartment and enjoyed some fine vegetarian cuisine and some loud noises from the parrot.

Entering the menagerie
© Jeff Jones

Gabbi and parrot
© Jeff Jones

The next day, we headed into Stockholm for a look-see, and I was a little surprised by the city's layout. It's built on a number of islands, but most of the streets are dead straight and quite wide. Not what I expected. Anyway, we saw the place where the Nobel prizes are awarded, which didn't look that interesting to me, followed by an ice rink where folks were skating to the tune of SOS by ABBA. Excellent.

We then headed into the Gamla Stan (old town), which had a few hardy tourists inspecting its narrow, cobbled streets. Finally, we took a boat out to Skansen, which is an open air museum of Swedish culture. Lots of old houses from different parts of the country, along with a selection of Sweden's native animals. I was most impressed by the wolverine, as I've never seen one before, and by the looks of my photos, you won't either. It was one of my favourite animals as a child and I thought it was much cooler than the Tasmanian Devil.

Night falls early in the tropics (like at 3pm), so our sightseeing trip didn't last too much longer.

Stockholm has plenty of facilities for gymnasts
© Jeff Jones

Ice skating to ABBA
© Jeff Jones

A very narrow alley
© Jeff Jones

Entry to Skansen. Note subtle ABBA reference.
© Jeff Jones

Traditional Swedish shack in Skansen
© Jeff Jones

A perfect specimen of a wolverine or panther. You need to be a pro to get pics like this.
© Jeff Jones

Royals

Sunday, being New Year's eve, we made good use of the remaining three hours of daylight (by the time we left the house at midday) by visiting Drottningholm palace, the summer house of Swedish royalty. It's a bit like Versailles, but on a smaller scale and not as pretty. Because of its house-like status, we couldn't actually go inside, so instead we satisfied ourselves with the slightly out of place Chinese pavilion and Gothic tower.

We drove around an island afterwards, and saw actual examples of Swedish country living. Most houses are painted Falun red, although orange, yellow and brown are common colours.

The royle palace at Drottningholm. Note resemblance to Versailles.
© Jeff Jones

Inscrutable (it was shut) Chinese pavilion in Drottningholm
© Jeff Jones

I went into the city by myself and generally tooled around. Taking pics without gloves when it's close to freezing leads to cold hands. Scientific tests have now shown this (I was the scientist). Nothing that a cappuccino (in a glass!) and a chunk of apple strudel cake at a centrally located restaurang wouldn't fix.

I stopped into a church I passed along the way because it was warmer, but I did not get down on my knees and pretend to pray. I'm far too atheistic for that. I did take a whole lotta pics of Gamla Stan by night, if 4pm counts as night. None of them came out because there was no light, except the one I took of the light shop.

The sun came up briefly before 3pm on Sunday, then set immediately. I was there, on the spot.
© Jeff Jones

Handily, I found this light shop.
© Jeff Jones

Gott Nytt År

It being New Year's Eve, some fireworks were in order. Unlike alcohol, you can buy fireworks relatively easily in Sweden, and people were letting them off all night. After watching Da Vinci Code, we three ventured out into the nearby park at 11:55pm when the pyrotechnics were in full swing. It was quite amazing and very different from the 'organised' fireworks that we get in Sydney. The horizon was constantly flashing as everyone, everywhere was lighting their respective blue touch papers. Combined with the general whistling, it sounded like the whole city was being bombed!

Fortunately it wasn't, and we safely watched the locals in the park shooting fireworks at each other. A great night, reminiscent of my childhood days when fireworks were still legal in Oz. Until too many people blew parts of other people's (or their own) anatomy off.

Gabbi and Robin about to hoe into a NYE repast
© Jeff Jones

I didn't make any New Year's resolutions this year, because I tend to forget them within about two weeks, let alone try to stick to them. The only one I remember was back in 1999/2000, which I still haven't managed to achieve yet, although I'm getting closer.

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