All hail business trips! Not mine, alas, but a friend's, which provided me the perfect excuse to catch the first airport train after work last Thursday and head to Sweden. This was my first time flying within Europe/Schengen zone post-Brexit and the novelty of not showing my passport once still hasn't worn off. 'Have I just somehow bypassed border control?', 'Is this legal?' I asked myself as I stepped off the plane and directly onto a train into the centre of Stockholm.
On arrival, whether legal or not, we headed to our accommodation for the weekend: a hostel. A floating hostel. Other than being left with a rocking sensation long after checking out, akin to that bizarre feeling when you walk on solid ground after bouncing on a trampoline for a bit too long, I can't fault it. Comfortable and cosy and bang in the centre of the city!
Fuelled with fresh Kanelbullar - the first of many - we crossed the bridge to Gamla Stan, Stockholm’s iconic Old Town. As the sun dramatically set at about 2pm, we followed the remaining, yet quickly diminishing, daylight and crossed over to Skeppsholmen island.
Walking back through Gamla Stan to our ship (sounds far more exciting than ‘hostel’) that night, there was a distinctly festive feeling in the air as shop owners wreathed their doorways with fairy lights and builders knocked the final nails into the Christmas market cabins. It seems we were the only ones unaware of the approaching blizzard.
After a fortifying bun-fast, we caught a ferry to Blockhusudden on the island of Djurgården, from where we planned to walk to the Abba Museum at the other end. With no hat and a distinctly non-waterproof coat, it’s no wonder we got pitying looks from the woman whose shop we retreated into for our first defrosting session.
After a quick drip-dry and souvenir survey, we braved the outside again and made our way to a perfect pit-stop cafe right by the Abba museum. More buns were consumed (sensing a theme yet?), along with our first, albeit minimal, vegetables of the trip - with limited sources of both vitamin D and C in this country, it’s a wonder there are any Swedes left. Not to mention the astronomically high murder rates. Or perhaps that’s just Britbox skewing my perspective…
Abba museum completed, gold clogs acquired, we set off in search of Swedish meatballs, arriving at ‘Meatballs for the People’. Google maps responds very well to direct requests, I’ve learnt.
Our final day in Sweden brought more buns (cardamom this time), more ice age training and an increasing desire to return soon. We hadn’t, after all, caught a glimpse of those elusive twinkly lights in the sky!
Safe to say, Swedish cuisine is pretty (b)unbeatable!
