Drains and hills of Stockholm
I have never had such trips. 10 hours before departure, and my things are still on the shelves, there is a mess in my head, the hotel is not booked (I forgot), my ex-girlfriend has a suitcase, a friend has a camera, etc. No wonder my Stockholm begins with Kyiv. This was not an ordinary business trip. Now no one booked anything for me, no one met me, no one waited, the guides told other people about Stockholm sights. I didn’t have a single Swede, Arab or Indian I knew in Stockholm. And where do they come from? Add to all this turmoil an early flight, lack of sleep, city maps, a hangover, suddenly broken headphones. Everything went decidedly not according to the scenario, which I did not invent. I didn't care, but I was also a little scared.
All these tales about Stockholm: “located on 14 islands”, “5 hours of daylight”, “hamburgers at McDonald’s for 5 euros and beer for 3”, “Stockholm is the most expensive city in Europe after London”, etc.
The airport. Bus. Central station. Crawled out of the bus, his hair disheveled from an unsuccessful attempt at sleep, a Ukrainian journalist eagerly looks around. Then he takes out his suitcase, and moves in any direction. Not only does he not have a map, he does not even know a single address of any, even the most lousy hostel. Consumed by the thirst for sleep, food and shower, he makes attempts to find shelter. The only thing he knows about Stockholm is the old city, aka Gamla Stan. There are plenty of hostels in Gamla Stan, his acquaintances told him. With this in mind, I am wandering with a suitcase that is pretty boring to me through the unknown streets of a city covered with snow.
There is not much time for whining - you will find shelter faster - you will soon gain strength.
Despite the small amount of money I have available, I was ready to sleep now for any money. Finally, a kind African American from a gift shop to my question: “Do You know any hostel not far from. . anywhere? ” replies “If I im not mistaken there. (pointing with his black fingers towards the narrow street) but ask somebody else. After 10 minutes, I was already climbing the stairs to the second floor of the building where the Castanea hostel is located. A fair woman at the reception in glasses, with blond curls and a sweet smile, asked if I had previously booked a room. I said no, and that I was terribly sleepy. Martina (that's her name) smiled and started showing me the hostel: here is the toilet, and here is the shower. This is a kitchen: two refrigerators, a microwave oven, an electric kettle, dishes. And these are the products that other people who lived here left, you can take them. They all have an "X" on them. I opened the refrigerator and saw an almost full bottle of Absolut, several packs of milk, cheeses, something else. All with an "X".
Swede - an eccentric - not Russian, leaves vodka. Or maybe he leaves it especially for the Russians, I thought. Who knows them?
I settled in a room where 5 people already lived: 3 Germans, one Finnish and one Belgian. As it turned out, it was his vodka. After a long-awaited and necessary sleep and dinner, I wandered off to explore the city. I put in somehow working headphones and, to the dreary rhythms of The Doors, Radiohead and Kino, wandered through the snow-covered evening Stockholm. I walked 7 or 8 kilometers, just roaming the streets and obeying the principle: “I will go here because my eyes like it. ” And then I began to understand that I was afraid in vain: the city, despite its "multi-island" nature, is quite simple. I took the map from the hostel, and with it, as if with my best friend, we wandered around the shimmering Swedish capital.
In the kitchen, at dinner, I got into a conversation with Henri, the same Belgian, the owner of Absolut vodka he didn’t need and just a roommate. Henri is 27 years old, he smiles widely, waves his arms and knows 4 languages.
With me in the kitchen, he spoke French, German and English with other residents. With me, the ignoramus, he listened to my meager flow of incoherent English words. After a while, I must admit, I watered my dried-up memory and started talking. Henri, like me, came to Stockholm alone and also for a week. It was then that he offered me a drink of vodka. At first I refused, but after a couple of hours we were already in the company of our Finnish neighbor, cutely holding glasses of vodka and cola, chatting about something. About high local prices, about hockey (for some reason), about euros and crowns, and even about corn. Then Henri, bringing his glass to mine, asked what we, Russians and Ukrainians, are talking about toasting and shaking glasses after it. I really did not immediately find what to answer him. “Will we? ". No, it doesn't seem like it. "Hooray"? It's not from this opera at all. "Let's! Well, let's! - that's what we say when we drink, I explain to Henri. Henri says "dafaite" and beats my glass. Finca follows suit.
My glass quickly empties, and my interlocutors chat about some nonsense and do not drink at all. After waiting for a pause, I say that Ukrainians and Russians are nations of alcoholics. We are completely devoid of any English manners and restraint. If in your feast conversation prevails first, and then only an infusion of alcohol, then with us it is exactly the opposite: “no alcohol - no conversation. ”
A little more than a day of my Swedish stay has passed. When I woke up, I grabbed my bathroom amenities and went to take a shower. Before that, I went to the reception to pay for the next day. What did you like? - asks Martina, - did you get enough sleep? Yes thank you. I like you here very much. The atmosphere is homely. I did not flatter or exaggerate, everything is completely (special expression) true. I even walk barefoot here in these mansions. I made myself breakfast: vermicelli, green peas, sprat in tomato, pink salmon, which someone kindly left, nesquik. .
It's sunny outside, but a little chilly. The sun here, as I heard, is rare. That's why I was very happy when I woke up around 9 and saw sunny weather in the window. I decided to get up early to get as much sun as possible in this winter city.
After my breakfast changes the “table-stomach” location, I head over heels to the Sö delmarm area, where, according to assurances, the best city panoramas. It was there that I roamed yesterday, only I didn’t know yet that there were hills from where you could see Stockholm from above. I take my laptop with me to write directly from the scene. Well, breakfast is over, I'm on my way.
It seems that everything is flying here: from circling seagulls over the royal palace, one or more constantly cruising helicopters, brave Swedes flying over the road at a red light or their own - on bicycles. And, of course, prices. The prices here are very high.
In general, the Swedes amaze with their ease and even indifference to their city. It's hard to spot standing romantic or embracing Swedes. It is difficult to notice even just standing ones: everyone is flying somewhere. No, to stand on the bridge, smoke, think, enjoy the glare of the sun on the water, finally yawn. No way, they don't have time. Only forward. It also does not fit into the head, why are there traffic lights. Especially in some areas where the width of the streets does not exceed three meters. Traffic lights are almost a formal thing in Stockholm. And for nothing that traffic lights are here like the Swedes themselves - everywhere. The flying Swedes do not need traffic lights: they freely jump over the streets without feeling any guilt, and, presumably, without annoying drivers of cars located 50 meters away from them. This is normal here. Largely due to the fact that the streets here are so narrow that the road can be crossed in three or four steps.
Even mothers with strollers do not skimp on this. Nimble, in a word, these Stockholmers.
I live three minutes from the royal palace and the main attractions of the old city. True, they do not impress me much, and I always pass them without a twinge of conscience. But what impresses me is the guards, constantly marching through the palace grounds. I feel sorry for them, because it's evening, and no one but me sees them. And they, who don’t even notice me, according to the scenario learned by heart, are okay with their feet. If it were my will, I would let them all go home. Anyway, they haven’t had a war for two hundred years, and I hope it’s not expected. Nowhere. . And at home, maybe their wives are waiting or friends with beer in the pub. But each has its own cross. Him to march, tourists - to look at him. And mine is to go explore Stockholm further.
………………………………………................ People……………….............................................
So far, the Swedes show themselves only from the best side, although they do nothing special.
Everyone, from young to old, is well dressed. And, presumably, this is not only the merit of the flagship of Swedish clothing - H & M, represented in Stockholm by numerous stores. With taste, the Swedes have absolute friendship and harmony. However, after a few days, even skillfully dressed people merge with each other, that is, with the general mass - everything is outrageously good, but outrageously the same: boots, jeans of different colors often wrapped in them, scarves (they are given special attention here) all colors and sizes, leather bags, briefcases, etc.
The well-known love of the nation for design is manifested both in the city itself and in the premises: everything is a pleasure to look at. Design city, design city. You don't have to go far, here's a simple example. Every day when I cook breakfast, lunch or dinner for myself, from the windows of my hostel you can see the apartment where a single woman lives in her sixties.
On the windowsill of her kitchen is a huge basket with a huge ruddy bread. A pot of flowers and an intricate candlestick with burning candles were placed on the windowsill of the hall. The apartment is so cozy and elegantly furnished, which causes tenderness. Here she sits and watches TV, not even suspecting that every day I pay tribute to the decoration of her apartment. Maybe she will still look out the window and look up to the floor above, where she will get a sincere smile from me on my beaming face.
The whole nation makes a kind of even, calm, if I may say so, impression on me. Young people, people of middle and old age are similar in manners, behavior, gait and even the rhythm of movement through the streets. The Swedes walk quickly and confidently, they rarely look into the eyes, as their heads are half-lowered. Men are mostly very beautiful and at first glance sexy and charismatic.
A sort of tough guys with stubble, blond curls and an expressive look. But all for the same reason: “A lot of you are so cool here: everything is right at once” - beauty dissolves in itself. Not to stare and turn around at everyone, really? No, I'm not gay. On the contrary, I love women very much. But beautiful women here are like diurnal owls: it was not easy for me to find them. Swedish women lack grace, femininity, lightness in gait, elegance and sexuality, finally. As if late for the last boat to paradise, women rush their bodies headlong through the streets. Men: some are businesslike, others are more cheeky, without much ceremony, they are also running somewhere. There are few couples. To a rarity. But all that I came across, directly conquered me. The general beauty, or something. Or on the contrary: the less, the more you like. And only children, spitting on everything, run and shout merrily, waving national flags and balloons.
I forgot to mention the dogs. Full!
Small, bigger, shaggy and with a stingy coat. Once I saw a black poodle, he is still a dandy. And so, basically, little fluffy assholes in blouses and Labradors.
Another thing I want to say about people is their friendliness and desire to help. Of course, I didn’t check how they would react to help carry my suitcase to the station or pay for my accommodation in a hostel, but to show the way, explain what and where is - here they are daring. No kidding, the best map of the city is the Swedes themselves. More precisely, their answers and participation in helping. They are so eager to help you, as if you had an accident and you urgently need a blood transfusion. A little bent, but a little, believe me. Once I was looking for one hill (Fanfagan), which offers a panoramic view of Gamla Stan and other parts of the city.
One woman, as Swedish courtesy suggests in such situations, shows me the way on the map, as an elderly woman walking towards us, seeing us, immediately drops: “Can I help You? ". It's still nice, damn it. But then again, I didn't ask about the suitcase. .
...................................................... Museum island ........................................
For convenience, in Stockholm, most of the museums are located on two islands: Djurgarden and Skeppsholmen, while together they form the largest park in the world. Trees and museum: walk and explore. Getting to Holmsen from Gamla Stan is not difficult, just cross the road (Stromgatan, and then turn onto Blasienholmskajen). Then, after crossing the crowned bridge (two yellow crowns are placed on both sides of the bridge), you find yourself on the island. After crossing, do not forget to take a picture of a beautiful view of Gamla Stan, perhaps one of the best views of the old city, opens from here.
Then it will not be difficult to find the museum you need: signs, arrows and your intuition will lead you to the place without any difficulties.
The third day of my stay in Stockholm I spent in a hostel. It was cold outside, and there was not much mood for a walk. I did what I read. I finished reading Hamsun and started on Strindberg. After reading 2 plays, I realized that this is my writer. At three o'clock in the morning in the common room there was my prolonged laughter - the reason for this was Strindberg's wonderful humor.
After waking up and traditionally taking a shower and having breakfast, I went to the museum. Finding it is as easy as shelling pears: just jump out onto Drottninggatan street and, without turning anywhere, look for the house at number 85. A couple of blocks from the museum, quotes from Strindberg's works will shine like silver on the road. They stretch almost to the museum itself, thus dividing the road in two. The idea belongs to a certain Ingrid Falk and Gustavo Aguerro, who realized their idea in 1998.
The museum is the apartment where the writer lived in the last years of his life. Even if you have never heard of Strindberg and are not interested in literature at all, this museum is worth a visit for a little show. The creators of the museum endowed inanimate objects with sounds: so, entering the bedroom, you hear the knock of the door, at the window, from nowhere, the roar of a thousandth crowd is heard. Not immediately understanding what is happening, you involuntarily look out the window and look for screaming people with your eyes. Then you find a screen-tablet on which everything is explained: in 1912, on Strindberg's birthday, a crowd of 10.000 surrounded house 85 and congratulated the writer. In the office where the famous Swedish playwright worked directly, there is a table, on it are all improvised accessories: pencils neatly folded in a row, a lamp, a candle, sheets of paper, round glasses. A little further away is the library.
Suddenly someone starts coughing, the sound of a writing pencil is heard, some other sounds are alive, but it is not clear where the outgoing sounds come from. In moments, the realization comes - it's Strindberg himself coughing. through reproduction. And so all the time: the phone rings, the coffee machine is brewed - you never know where to expect a surprise. A complete attraction.
Walking in the apartment, you find yourself in a mini-gallery.
Open: Tuesday - Sunday: 12 - 16
Cost: 50 crowns.
The city is strange. Mysterious. After spending a week there and, having passed it almost up and down, there is no feeling that this city has been conquered, explored. On the contrary, it is a complete mystery. No wonder this is a kingdom. It's like in a fairy tale: carefree, easy, a little utopian. After Moscow, New York or Singapore, Stockholm will seem like CHILL-OUT. A sort of pre-party place before a noisy party with fireworks and limousines. The Stockholm rhythm is like wallowing in a hammock: entertaining and lulling.
Of course, this is not the Maldives or Jamaica: the streets of Stockholm are doomed to walking. Architectural ensemble, water conquering land, silence at night, north wind, cobblestones in the old town, dynamic Swedes: this is perhaps my puzzle of Stockholm.
