Runaway (Stockholm, Sweden, part 2)

Our host had put together an online guidebook covering the sights to see as well as the basics like cafés, bars and restaurants. Today we tried Fabrique for breakfast. It is a chain but had good reviews from others online, one a Frenchman, so we thought why not? It didn't live up to the standards of yesterday's café, but for a chain it was very good. Although not good enough to see us return tomorrow.

Lots of narrow laneways.

There is probably enough to see in the old town for the time we are here. Again, because we are out of peak season, dear reader, many attractions have limited hours or have reduced offers of tours. Stockholm in summer looks like a real possibility in 2025. Having decided to stay local on Gamla Stan, following breakfast, we strolled to the palace.

The place where the nobility hang out.

The Arrival

Signposting has, at varying stages proved to be somewhat of a challenge. Finding the entry to the palace was another one. Jayne had decided the entrance was where a guard had been strategically placed. Close, but no. We were directed up a set of stairs. There were a small sign at the bottom of the stairs or at the top where they finished. There was only one option to move forward and as we rounded the corner of the building, we were met by a rope prohibiting further progress and a soldier with a rifle to reinforce the point.

Nothing seems to explain this place.

It was too early for the changing of the guard. Yet the soldiers had all marched out of their barracks and were standing in formation. We watched and waited. Around the corner came two horse drawn carriages. Excitement. Is it the king? From the second carriage, an imperious white glove waved to Jayne and only to Jayne. Well, that's her story.

Jayne's friend waving to her. Look closely.

A set of doors opened in the wall of the palace and the carriages disappeared. The soldiers then completed their routine and marched back to the barracks. Well, marched is not quite correct. It started as a march and finished as a high stepping jog. Most amusing. More on that later.

Run away. Run away.

The Palace or Kungliga Slottet

The excitement over, the ropes were dropped and we joined the queue for entry into the palace. It being out of season, there were no guided tours during the week. The number of rooms available for access was also limited but there was enough to keep us occupied for about four hours.

I said, "it's over there".

There were three areas open to the public: a series of rooms in the palace itself, the treasury which was in a downstairs section and an area called Three Crowns Museum, also below ground level.

The palace apartments are divided into the the guest accommodation and the royal family rooms and offices. There are some state rooms with regalia and award displays, as well as the ubiquitous gift shop, in between the two sections, connected by ornate marble staircases. 

You could just lie on the floor.

We started off at our own pace with the audio guide but very quickly were assailed by a rather large school excursion of teenagers who were being afforded a tour by a very verbose guide. She took forever to extoll the features and anecdotes of several of the spaces, while we waited to for them move on so we could read and listen to the information provided in English. To try to go ahead was pointless because the tour was not stopping in every room and we would be leap frogged again. 

It's silver but you'd need a blanket.

Eventually we overtook them in the state room and headed straight into the long hall that has been modelled on the Hall of Mirrors in Versailles. We could definitely see the inspiration at work in the Karl XI Gallery, but like the Schönbrunn Palace in Austria which is also supposed to have been built to rival Louis XIV's masterpiece, this was no competition for the real thing (although the mirrors were of a better standard).

Another Versailles copy.

After a patient wait, the bored teenagers disappeared although their teachers remained behind to chat to the verbose guide while their charges wandered off unsupervised. Hope they didn't graffiti some priceless royal artefacts. Eventually the hall was vacant and we could admire the space and take photographs unhindered before heading down to the palace forecourt for the scheduled changing of the guards at 12:15pm.

A chandelier from beneath. Almost got it.

A small crowd had gathered in the roped off areas and we selected our vantage point near another young soldier who was tasked with crowd control to keep the pathways clear.  After a P.A. welcome, the trumpeter and drummer appeared and right on time, the regiment came forth with much marching in formation to eventually make the required change of guard.  Having watched the previous military ritual that accompanied the arrival of the coaches (disappointingly bearing an ambassador not the king, we had been told), we were ready for what we considered the slightly undignified exit that is part of the ceremony.

Today's title is courtesy to the undignified running away of the Swedish guard. Runaway by The Corrs.

Three Crowns

Once this was all captured on camera, we headed back inside the palace to go down into the Three Crowns Museum. Interestingly the Three Crown Museum did not contain three crowns. Or even one in fact. It provided a potted history of the castle, its birth, death in 1697 after a major fire and resurrection into its present form. The three crowns refer to the Swedish coat of arms which bears three crowns.

Much of the original palace was built of wood with peat rooves. A bonfire waiting to happen. To combat this, the use of peat was banned at one point and stone was supposed to be used in construction of the buildings. But kings, being ultimate, all powerful rulers, could change their minds. And one did, authorising the last pre-fire extensions to be completed in wood. Hindsight is wonderful but not helpful.

The other fire prevention strategy was hope. No, just kidding, it was the appointment of a fire watcher. Just like the education system in Australia, it is a position created to allow the blame to be shifted away from those who are really responsible. And shift it did. Following the fire, the chief fire watcher and a number of his assistants were sentenced to running the gauntlet.

This consisted of running between two rows of soldiers who were armed with sticks or weapons to beat you as you ran, walked, staggered past. The chief fire watcher was sentenced to 7 runs which is actually 14 because you need to return to the point of commencement. It doesn't record how many soldiers are involved but the diorama suggested at least 50 on each side. Anders Andersen, the fire watcher, did not survive. To be fair though he had deserted his post and gone to get some dinner. I hope he enjoyed it.

The Treasury

The treasury was around the otherside of the palace; a walk that took us back onto the streets of Gamla Stan. It is here that the crowns are kept. As well as other items of royal importance, historical significance and value, (orbs, sceptres, swords etc). This by general standards is a very small display and we negotiated it in less than 15 minutes.

It was then time to return to our apartment for a rest, followed by walking the tourist loop of Gamla Stan to ensure that in our random meanderings, we had not missed any sights of note. We hadn't.

Bistrot Marie

Then it was time to go to dinner at one of our host's recommended restaurants, Bistrot Marie. Jayne was excited. She'd read the reviews and apparently their version of Swedish meatballs was to die for. Maybe that is what the chief fire watcher ate that fateful night.

Another Great Tit.

Nothing is far away in the old town and the restaurant was about a 5 minute walk. We were comfortably seated when Jayne discovered there were no Swedish meatballs on the menu. Horror! The waitress assured us that the Wallenbergare was similar. We ordered that and a freshly baked baguette.

The discussion around wine was something else. Issues with delivery meant the wine menu was inaccurate. We discussed having a white and our lovely hostess insisted we try the wine before making a decision. We tried two whites for two rejections and settled on an Italian Barbaresco which complemented the giant veal meatball beautifully.

If you have to say it, it's not true.

Day 4

On our wanderings yesterday we discovered another place for breakfast, Panem and that is where we headed this morning. As we arrived four women (insert country of prejudice) walked in front of us. There was one person working behind the counter. They discussed what to have. They ordered. They changed their order. They looked at other options. Changed their order and changed it back it again. Asked to pay all together and then when the bill was presented asked if they could pay separately. Then decided they wanted the bill split evenly into four, which the computerised/itemised register would not allow. Totally unconcerned about the queue growing behind them.

Pippi is everywhere

It was, however, worth the wait. Great pastries and excellent coffee. Warmed and sustained, we headed for Slussen on the other side of the island and the ferry to Djurgården to visit the Vasa Museum. A 15 minute trip that cost me 14 cents.

Vasa Museum

The area around the Vasa Museum houses a number of other museums. One has its focus on ship wrecks, another on Vikings, a third the Swedish drinking culture, and, of course the ABBA museum. A pity we didn't have time to check out the last one. Next time.

Our ferry.

The Vasa is a warship from 1628 that was commissioned by King Gustav II Adolf. Its claim to fame, aside from being inside a museum and not on the water, is that it sank on it's maiden voyage. I'm not even sure we can use the term voyage. How far does one need to travel for the it to be a voyage? The Vasa sailed 100 metres and then descended to Davey Jones' locker.

Towards the bow.

After several attempts at salvage, it was finally refloated in the 1960s and now lives happily in the museum. The museum itself is a bit of a one trick pony but they milk it for all its worth. There are documentary style movies, static displays, an audio guide and explanations attached to the various artefacts. 

A Lego version of the Vasa.

The star of the show is the Vasa itself. It is an amazing piece of work, even if it didn't sail that well. Without going into great detail, the King approved a ship of gigantic proportions with two gun decks that physics decreed would capsize in the slightest swell because it was not broad or deep enough. I'm not a boat builder but it was pretty obvious. How the master boat builder earned his title is beyond me. It was well built. It was just never going to sail.

In the resulting inquest into the disaster, in which 30-50 people drowned, it was verified that the ship had been built to specifications approved by the King. Surprisingly, unlike the Palace fire, no one was found to be at fault...

Nicely decorated the aft of the ship.

Another four hours burnt in a museum. We love them and given the uncertainty around the weather it is a great way to spend the day. And there are so many more to explore next time.

Not on the agenda for our return to Stockholm is the amusement park Grüna Lund. I almost wet my pants looking at the roller coasters over the fence. And they weren't even operating.

Just why?

We decided pre-dinner drinks would be in order and retired to the Corner Bar. It is on a corner and is tiny. The drinks from behind the bar also service the sushi restaurant in the arcade. They had a couple of Australian wines on the menu, we opted for a French rosé and some people watching.

Tomorrow we travel from Stockholm to Gothenburg with Sj trains. What could possibly go wrong?

Until next time.

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.