Stockholm - Monday 25th February 2019

Well, hello, and thanks for tuning in to the first edition of An English Fool Abroad With His Sketchbook of 2019, Stockholm Edition.

I’ve wanted to visit Stockholm for a long time – believe it or not ever since I saw the huge photograph of Gamla Stan ( the island which has the old town on it)which they used to have in the restaurant in IKEA in Cardiff. Sad. It’s one of quite a few cities which calls itself the Venice of the North, and not without good reason. Still, we’ll come to that all in the fullness.

A 7:25 flight this morning from Bristol necessitated a very early start, but even so I still only arrived about 20 minutes before the plane started boarding. For once I have nothing unusual, funny or annoying to report about the flight. We boarded on time, and we left, well if not quite on time to the dot, at least not more than a few minutes late. Something for a first for EasyJet, I fancy.

Arlanda airport is about 20 minutes away from the centre of Stockholm using the Arlanda Express. Now, I think that I was in a bit of a funny mood when I got off the plane, because for some reason discovering that the Swedish word for lift is Hiss set me off on a fit of giggles which lasted halfway into the centre of the city. When I arrived at the Central Station my first priority was to get a 72 hour travel card. This necessitated – gulp – talking to people. And it was when I was buying my card from the tourist desk in Central Station that I first encountered the Swedish Hej. Hej- pronounced hey – is a pretty ubiquitous greeting in these parts. Which is fine, except it sounds like an accusation the first time you hear it. It sounds like it ought to be followed by – what the hell do you think you’re doing? – You do get used to it pretty quickly, though.

There was no necessity to go to the hotel right away, especially since the central station is rather obviously, right in the centre of Sweden, and therefore very handy for lots of interesting things to see and sketch. I made the 4 sketches you should be able to see with this post. Coming back to the point about Stockholm being nicknamed The Venice of the North, there’s a good reason, being that the city stretches across no fewer than 14 islands. I crossed to Gamla Stan, which literally means the old town. It’s an attractive place, no doubt about that. Going across to Gamla Stan also meant that I got to fulfil one of the required elements for any visit to a capital city, namely a ride on the metro. Stockholm’s is the T (for tunnel) Bana (for Bana). I only went the one stop back to the Central Station, and was about to go and find where the splendidly named Pendletags (commuter trains) departed from, when I saw a word which will always gladden my heart. Trams, and a helpful arrow. That’s how I ended up with a sketch of the tram, and yes, of course I went for a tram ride.

So, back to Central Station for the third time, this time I really did take the Pendeltag to Alvsjo, and was delighted to find that you can actually see the hotel from the station. So far so good. Inside the hotel the reception is up several flights of stairs. When I found it, I announced to the chap behind the desk that I would like my room please, he looked at my piece of paper with the booking reference, then looked at my passport, then looked at both again, and said,
“You are not Yennifer.” No flies on this guy, I thought to myself, but decided that sarcasm was probably not the best idea at this time. I explained that Yennifer, sorry, Jenniffer, is my daughter who made the booking. In her name.
“She is not coming?”
- Yes, me old china, she’s in me rucksack here – I made a point of not saying, and explained that Jenn had made the booking, and that’s why it is in her name. He wasn’t that happy, but got a lot happier when I offered to pay the full amount up front in cash.

After unloading the bag, and removing a couple of layers of clothing – look, I know that the forecast said that it is going to be unseasonably mild in Stockholm this week, but I wasn’t taking any chances – I took the pendletag (love that word) back into the centre. My planwas to take a walk to the National Museum and have a look and thus cross off one of the items from my to do list. Good idea. Or at least it would have been if it had not been stangd pa mandag. Yes, if you haven’t worked it out that means closed on Mondays.

By the time I’d walked back to the Central Station – again – the sun was sinking low, and a bit of a bitter wind had started to blow. Also, the 4am start this morning was beginning to take its toll. So I headed back to the hotel to conclude day one.