Arrival (Stockholm, Sweden part 1)

The day commenced as usual, dear reader, enjoying the Hotel Continental's most excellent croissant at breakfast and then back to our room for the final pack. My snow jacket was already vacuum packed and since we had generated some washing, that was vacuum packed as well. Aside from the packing cells, this has been a game changer for us.

Sentral Station - Oslo

Once again we decided to brave the weather and the paving and drag our bags to the station via a souvenir store. We needed to drop in the tax refund form for Jayne's Pandora. That was the only aside and we arrived at the station with 15 minutes to spare. A well timed walk. Almost.

Our, not so fast stationary train.

It was at this point, dear reader, that SJ, the Swedish train company, began to resemble Qantas. Not in a good way. Well that's true, there is probably no good way to resemble Qantas these days. Our train was delayed by exactly 1 hour. We found a place inside the terminal where we could safely park our bags and sit in the relative warmth out of harm's way. Jayne sat patiently. I prowled like the tiger outside the station.

Pictures from a train window.

My pacing didn't help. The departure time was unchanged. 20 minutes before the scheduled time, we left the terminal, walked to the platform and to our carriage to line up with everyone else. The doors finally opened 10 minutes prior to the advertised departure. And no, we didn't leave then either. Once on board, bags stowed, an announcement was made about the late arrival last evening and the need for the staff to have sufficient sleep. I believe Qantas refers to this as 'operational issues'. Finally the train left the station 1 hour and 20 minutes late with the promise that those of us who had connections in Stockholm would be looked after. That did not include those of us who were walking to our next destination.

Somewhere in a frozen wonderland.

The only excitement in the journey was when we rounded a corner and a loud bang was heard. As Jayne had the aisle seat, I asked if our suitcase was OK. She peered down the corridor and said, "I can't see it. It must be OK." Later I found this not to be the case (hahaha, the pun master) as our large red suitcase was touring the front of the carriage on its own recognisance. The only solution, given it has no wheel locks,  was to hoist it up into the luggage rack and lay it flat.

A house.

Given we left Oslo late, the original train schedule was out. This meant stopping on sidings to allow other very fast trains right of way in the opposite direction. This put us further behind, despite reaching a top ear-popping speed of 201 kmh. We made Stockholm, eventually, almost 2 and a half hours late. The sun had set. It was cold. We had no real idea about where we were going.

Somewhere. I don't know or care. I want to be off this train.

That leads us, inexorably, to today's title and an apology. Sorry, I mean explanation. Arrival, by ABBA. Yes, I know. It won't happen again dear reader. No more detail. It should be self evident. If you really want to hear the music, it is music, no lyrics. Some clown on Youtube said this is the music you'll hear entering paradise. If that is the case, I'm glad I'm an unbeliever. Knock yourself out. Enjoy is not the word.

Stockholm

Did that deter us? Not a bit. We wheeled our bags to an information person who had as little idea as we did. His directions proved, well, as reliable as an SJ train timetable. Even Declan, our GPS voice, struggled.

Once again I found that quaint, cobble-stoned or paved streets are wonderful for tourist brochures and photo opportunities, but they are in fact shit for tourists dragging bags. My right arm is now longer than my left. I need to remember to swap the bags over for the reverse journey. Symmetry is everything dear reader. Just like in Georgian architecture. Trust me, I just know.

We eventually found our way to our AirBnB. The door and key safe codes worked, the lights were on, it was warm inside. There was a bed and wifi. Sure there was no alcohol because the bottle shops close at 6pm, but we still had a Mars Bar, chocolate covered licorice, peanuts and some tea bags. Who could ask for anything more? Yeah, OK, but just don't.

The noise from the street was alarming. Narrow paved streets lined by tall buildings means that noise is amplified and reverberates. Happily the noise subsided as the local bars closed. There was one clown around 3am but he was on his own and pleading on his phone. All was quiet until just before 6am and the garbage truck arrived. That was it. No more sleep. Wheelie bins on cobblestones. The noise went on. And on. And on. Culminating in the bottle disposal from the restaurant or bar across the street. It was like recycling night at home.

Gamla Stan

The next day we awoke to snow. Not so exciting because it was extremely light. Eventually it became sleet and then drizzle and almost stopped. All unforecast, but, whatever. We found one of the recommended bakeries for breakfast down by the water. Pastries were good. Coffee was excellent, the best I've had since home. We also purchased a baguette to consume later in the day.

Our street and our windows and doorway on the right.

Stockholm has already found a place in our hearts and we will be back, probably in summer when the points of interest have more accessibility. And Jayne isn't required to wear her snow jacket, although we have learned to work with the weather.

In an attempt to channel France, we went in search of food to go with our baguette. There was no marché so we had to settle for a Coop supermarket where an angry man was cleaning the floor while people tried to shop. Seriously, clean the floors out of hours otherwise shoppers are going to walk muddy prints over the floor you've just cleaned. Again and again. Regardless, we were equipped with ham, cheese and tomato to go with our baguette. This would be our cheapest meal in Scandinavia to date.

They are our rooms above the shop.

It was then the serious search commenced. In Sweden, wine sales are government controlled. No idea why. To purchase for home consumption, you have to find a Systembolaget. No French dinner, peasant or otherwise, is complete without wine. There are no Systembolagets in the old town; it is an island of restaurants, cafés, boutique shops and the palace. Did I mention the quaint cobblestone streets?

The drizzle continued as we headed for one of the bridges to cross to the mercantile centre of Stockholm. It was only a 20 minute walk, dear reader, and one of interest. Stockholm, like Paris, has something to marvel at, every time you turn a corner. There were many photo ops despite needing to put on a beanie and gloves.

Oh happy day, we found the Systembolaget. What's more, it is cheaper than buying wine in Norway. Long live socialist control in Sweden. We purchased a French white and rosé and two Italian reds for $70AUD. Bargain.

NK

Just next door to where the bottle shop was located was NK department store. Excited? Me neither. It's a thing over here, like Bloomingdale's in New York or Harrods in London. Or, as it turned out, DJ's in Sydney. In fact it resembled DJ's very much. Mostly designer brand shop fronts under the one roof, all franchises I assume. 

The Palace.

Apparently there is a view from the top floor. Up we go on the escalator, floor to floor just like David Jones until we reach the point of no return. And no view. Unless it was from one of the numerous cafés that inhabited each floor.

It was a nice store if you have money to  burn. Otherwise no view and no sale. Back out on the street, we made our way back to Gamla Stan by a slightly different way. Across the river, past the parliament and the palace.

Sentral Station - Stockholm

For our afternoon's entertainment, we walked back to the station. Walking from there at night, not really understanding where we were going wasn't helpful. In daylight, we were there in less than 20 minutes. Good to know. Inside there were the 'restaurants' you'd expect in Australia. Fast food rubbish and one genuine restaurant. There were signs to various platforms. Sorry, tracks. A language difference.

River life.

We needed track 10. There were signs for Tracks 11-19. And also for Tracks 1-8. close, but no. Then  we spotted the sign for Track 10. Cool, we know where we are headed on departure day. Curiously we could not see Track 9 anywhere.  And we looked. We actually lapped the interior of the station building. A mystery it remains. Perhaps we will stumble upon it as we depart Stockholm, or it belongs in Harry Potter folklore.

We timed the return journey - wouldn't want to be late for a SJ train. They're always on time.

A fast flowing river.

Back home, we enjoyed our first night of true relaxation since we left Australia. No fancy dinner, no restaurant, no other travellers to dance around or pretend to care about. We had wine with cheese, tomato and ham on a baguette in the comfort of our own 500 year old apartment. More on that later.

Good night.

Until next time.

15 Feet of Pure White Snow (Bergen to Oslo, Norway)

The day began, dear reader, as days used to, back when we worked, with an alarm waking us. Unattractive to say the least. One of the best things about retirement is waking up. I mean without an alarm. I'm not that old. I still expect to wake up.

Spoiler, most of the photos are from on board the train.

It was sort of light at 7:30am as we checked out. The best news was that Freyr, the Norse god of rain (among other things) had decided to grant us safe (dry) passage to Central Station. We also managed every pedestrian light. What a positive beginning to our almost 7 hour train journey.

But first, some observations on Bergen:

• We saw puppy school one evening and criss-crossed paths with them for a while. They were out walking in the park in formation. Except the Great Dane puppy. He was in disgrace and had to wait behind.  Later, he disappeared from the class entirely. I hope it wasn't racial.
• The whole of Norway jogs. First observed everywhere in Bergen. Since confirmed everywhere in Oslo, even on icy roads and pathways.
• Hotel room doors open outwards. Be careful as you wander those Norwegian corridors.
• Norwegian TV has a lot of foreign US/UK shows with Norwegian subtitles. That in itself is not notable. What caught our attention was the breaks in the shows which run 30 ads back to back before the show resumes. Seriously, you can have a shower and make a cup of tea and not miss a minute of the actual programme.
• Don't drink wine unless you have bought it at a bottle shop. The bar, restaurant and hotel markups on wine are eye-watering! Also be prepared since shops (including bottle shops) all close on Saturday afternoon and don't reopen till Monday morning.
• Also, it rained. Did I mention that?

At the station the train was waiting, but we were made to queue at the gate. In true European style, people looked at the line of waiting passengers and went, yeah, nah, I'll just walk to the front. Or stand to the side and wait for the line to move and then muscle in.

The gates opened about 15 minutes before scheduled departure and the crowd flooded through. Happily, there was ample storage for our large suitcase and the smaller bags went into the overhead rack. We settled in for one of the more remarkable rail journeys.

Our more than comfortable seats had adjustable tables and spacious legroom. A pity we didn't find the power point beneath the seat until we were coming into Oslo. The computer battery had died well before that. The vista as we crossed Norway was, cliché, picture postcard. The snow began not long out of Bergen and continued for most of the way to Oslo. Early on, the view was interrupted by tunnels and later the photo ops were ruined by snow on the window. Seriously, it was just amazing.

Ice on the water, not smoke, and that is not fire in  the sky.

We stopped at Myrdal where those wishing to enjoy the mountain views of Flåm were required to change trains. Announcements, helpfully, were in Norwegian and English. The Flåm train was waiting on the opposite platform, the drifts of snow covering the area in between. Apparently that is one of the most picturesque rides. Not sure how it will be today in the white out.

Myrdal. It was snowing.

There are not a lot of pictures because the window was covered in snow. However, the scenes of houses buried up to their eaves in snow, baby prams with skis at the front instead of wheels, frozen lakes and rivers, fir trees with frosted boughs and major snow falls along the way will live me forever. It is a world so foreign to my Australian life.

We arrived dead on time at Oslo Sentrum, something with which most Australians would be unfamiliar. A train arriving on time? Who knew that could be possible.

Freyr had deserted us and the Norwegian drizzle had recommenced. So, it was a damp 25 minute drag of the bags to our hotel, the Hotel Continental.  Another American Express hotel. Good work Amex. This time we scored a room upgrade, free breakfasts and $100US to spend at the hotel. Also once again, it is an excellent location in the theatre district near the water.

After unpacking, sort of, we researched dinner. While the hotel is 5 star, so are the prices and  dining options and we wanted something more casual after a day in transit. Prima Fila, an Italian restaurant was 5 minutes walk. We booked. Fortunately. Norway is weird, everyone seems eat early, like we do. This is a curiosity at home. These are our people. Except it restricts our food choices.

The restaurant was crowded. The service, after being shown to our table, was slow, but that was ok. Eventually we ordered. The waiter was, well, a wanker. He knew one Italian word (let's get into the one word or two argument), buongiorno, and threw it around liberally everytime he approached a table of young girls. Given he should have said buonasera, I thought he was a dick. 

Dinner was fine. Bruschetta, pasta and pizza, to share. Not a complex issue, one would think. Not so. The pizza arrived unsliced and had to be sent back to the kitchen because we didn't have a knife sharp enough to cut it. The pasta arrived with the pizza. Interesting for a shared meal. No extra plate, even for the mussel shells from the seafood pasta dish, but hey, we can deal with that. 

They are houses.

No dessert, but I asked for a glass of house red after the meal. It had aged well by the time it arrived and was almost dropped in front of me, accompanied by a muttered "Cabernet sauvignon," as he then boomingly 'buongiornoed' his way to the nearby table of girls.

The restaurant had emptied significantly by this time and there were several vacant tables. It had been interesting to watch the comings and goings. A booth in the level above where we were seated, arrived to much fanfare from staff. They were all dressed to kill, suits and pearls. Flowers were produced from somewhere. We had no idea who they were and really didn't care. However, their presence clearly mattered to others.

A frozen lake.

We also observed a patron in a wheelchair discover that the access toilet was up two steps, requiring him to have assistance from a friend and a waiter (not ours) to reach and return from the bathroom. All it would have required was a short ramp to solve the problem. Unfortunately, our own previous experience with disability access in Europe matched this. Not really hard to alleviate a lot of stress for people who are simply trying to live life.

Our bed beneath a 'monstrance'. Felt like I was sleeping on an altar.

We called for the bill which arrived without so much as a buongiorno. Disappointing. The auto pay devices in Norway require you to input the total cost of the bill, which had been presented to Jayne. She went to push the button and the waiter was finally interested in us. "Would you like to leave a tip?" he asked. "No," Jayne replied. "Not even a little one?" he enquired. "No," said Jayne again. "Ok, bye bye." And he scrunched up our receipt, plonked it on the table, turned and flounced off.

Although I'm not a fan of tipping to cover staff who are underpaid, as in America, I'm happy to provide a tip if the food and/or service warrants it. The food was good tonight, not great, but the service was, at best, average. I should have asked why he thought he deserved a tip. He was gone before I could say buonasera.

And that was pretty much our first day in Oslo. Tomorrow snow is predicted. A lot of snow. Hence today's title, 15 Feet of Pure White Snow by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds from 2001. Enjoy.

Until next time.