Why won't they leave us alone? (Stockholm to Gothenburg, Sweden)

And so, dear reader, it was with fear and trepidation we departed Stockholm and dragged our bags towards Central Station. We had selected a smoother route, one that limited the cobblestones and small pavers. We made the station in good time and loitered near the platform from which our train would be departing. Seating was at a premium and if you got up to stretch your legs it was likely your spot would be taken before you had walked a few metres. Thankfully I like to roam around so, once Jayne was seated with our bags, I went in search of the mysterious platform 9. No luck. It remains a mystery.

Our train arrived on time, but it required cleaning for the next leg of the journey. We were, therefore, 20 minutes late leaving. While that was not a concern for us - we couldn't get into the hotel until 3pm anyway, there were plenty of people with connecting trains at Gothenburg that would be inconvenienced.

The high speed trains are fabulous and I still can't understand why Australia has not gone down this path. The thing of note on the journey was the guy across the aisle with his headphones on singing to himself. Funny. And annoying.

Gothenburg or Göteborg is another university town and is Sweden's second largest city. We are here for three days because I wanted to break up the journey from Stockholm to Copenhagen. Given the speed of the trains it probably wasn't necessary. In an ironic twist, we will need to change trains on the way to Copenhagen and the connecting train commenced its journey in Stockholm.

Interesting architecture everywhere.

We are staying in a hotel, the Radisson Blu Scandinavia. It is a popular chain over here and is also directly opposite central station. Despite Declan, our GPS, wanting to walk us down one side of the canal to turn and retrace our steps, I cleverly noted the hotel sign emblazoned in 3 metre high blue neon and headed directly there. I had decided to upgrade to a suite, given our baggage. Good decision.

Systembolaget

There is a lot to like about Sweden. Bottle shop or Systembolaget opening hours is not on the list. We dropped our bags, unpacked a few things, checked the map, grabbed the backpack and headed for the bottle shop. Should you ever travel this way, dear reader, and are in search of take home alcohol, the term to Google is 'liquor store'. Cheers America.

An insect hotel near the bottle shop.

Anyway the systembolaget was less than 10 minutes walk from the hotel through the Inner City past numerous shops, cafés and restaurants. The weather was predicted to be fine and we wandered our new locale, taking in the sights as we went. Sadly, there were KFC and McDonalds amongst the more interesting eateries.

As we passed the local market, noted for a later visit, it began to rain. Not heavily. Just enough to be annoying and ensure you would be uncomfortable. Not to worry, our destination was nearby and we could shelter there making our wine choices.

Good try. Fail. The bottle shop had closed at 3pm, as it was Saturday, and wouldn't reopen until Monday morning. I am uncertain if this is some puritanical religious bent tied to decades past or a clever ploy to get the locals out to eat and drink on weekends. If the latter, it worked for us.

Dinner 

A restaurant had already been selected prior to leaving the hotel so we navigated our way there. It was Italian of course. I have never seen so many Italian restaurants, with the possible exception of Italy. The rain had stopped, we arrived at the restaurant and were shown to our table by a delightful young woman who chatted to us about Gothenburg and things we could do. Especially as Sunday is a day when many places are closed.

The restaurant was one of those order at the table places that popped up everywhere during COVID in Australia. In Sweden they are going completely cashless and most places accept card only. Wouldn't that cause Bob Katter and Barnaby Joyce to have an apoplexy? Be worth it for that alone.

So we decided a long lunch drifting into dinner was required. We began with olives and wine and the order went through without a problem. We sat and chatted and watched people coming and going. Later I ordered our mains and the system would not accept my card. Curious. It worked an hour ago. Over to the counter to speak to the people. It wouldn't work manually either.

They didn't take Amex so we were limited in what we could do. Jayne came over and attempted to pay with her card. Also rejected. About 8 times just to reinforce the point. Back at the table I tried again using Apple Pay. Success! Who knows why or how. Dinner was on its way.

And when it finally arrived, disappointment. My pizza was OK. Uncut, but OK. What is with that? Jayne's carbonara was swimming in egg wash. Disgusting.

Day 2

When you're travelling overseas, dear reader, there are many ways to start a day badly. One is to open your email and discover your VISA card has been suspended due to suspicious activity. For perspective, we have been away for a month and although it's not my main card, it gets used where Amex is not accepted. It has, therefore, been used in England and Norway, but apparently Sweden is a totally sus country and it was is now locked.

The only solution? Phone Australia. Do not respond to the email. Phone. The sim card I purchased is data only and I've tried making calls over the net but it doesn't work. Thankfully Jayne's phone did and I called HSBC in Sydney, well it was a Sydney number. After the usual 10 minutes on hold, I got to discuss the issue with someone in the fraud team. 

It's a school. Not Hogwarts.

She asked me if I authorised a purchase for $181AUD and provided the trading name. Really? Trading names are not generally the name of the establishment where you spent the money. I told her I bought dinner at an Italian restaurant in Sweden and named the two amounts spent in SEK. "Oh," she said, "You're in Sweden." This woman's progeny will never work on rockets.

Anyway, card restored it was time to search for breakfast. A potential challenge on a Sunday so we headed for Haga, a tourist area.

Haga

It was still early by Swedish standards and even the tourist area was quiet. There were a few cafés open and all were well patronised, as if to prove to the authorities that Sunday trading would be a beneficial move.

Reflective.

Finally we found a table in the third café and joined the queue to order. We tend not to eat much when we travel, a light breakfast and one meal usually suffices. The usual double espressos, a croissant and Jayne had something sweet, I can't remember the name. 

We didn't stay to explore Haga because we were returning the next day. Today we were going to the Museum of Natural History. Why? Because museums are open on Sundays, unlike the rest of Sweden and closed on Mondays.

It looked harmless enough from below.

Museum of Natural History

Admittedly it is a while since I've been to a museum of this sort. It is also billed as a museum of taxidermy. Their big claim to fame? A stuffed blue whale. I kid you not. Now I'm no taxidermist, so I'm not really in a position to criticise, but ... well, you'll see from the pictures.

The walk to museum passed the Skansen Kronan, a 17th century fortress. It is on top a hill of course with a great view. It can wait till the walk home.

The Skansen Kronan.

Walking through the doors of the museum was akin to wandering into a day care centre. It was all light and movement and screaming children and ambivalent parents. It appears museums are very popular on Sunday.

The magpies are really colourful.

The lockers were all taken which meant carrying our bags and coats. We climbed the spiral staircase to the top floor to work our way back down. In short, it is the museum of taxidermy. There were a few skeletons and some hands-on explanatory displays for kids. Otherwise it was stuffed animals.

Even the bear is looking away.

Stuffed birds, mammals, fish, assorted sea creatures, you get the idea. The museum, the oldest in Gothenburg, opened in 1905 and some of the exhibits looked like they were original. Particularly the birds, losing feathers, faded colour and a generally moth-eaten appearance.

The two floors of exhibits generated that wonderful echo sound that little children so enjoy to make. Some so much, they had what looked and sounded like a 'scream off' with other children. Yes, this was fun, dear reader.

An anorexic giraffe looking in a mirror.

And then the whale, the prize exhibit. I photographed it from above as well as from ground level. The lines on the side of the whale turned out be where it was cut open. To reseal it they used screws. It's head had three very large hinges. I assume this is for educational purposes so you can look inside. I thought it was just weird and unattractive and ultimately it didn't look real. Which also brings us to the title of this post, Why won't they leave us alone that timeless 1986 classic from Dot and the Whale. Do yourself a favour.

Hinges and screws.

After passing through the mammal exhibit, replete with a giraffe, elephant, moose, buffalo, bear and Australian marsupials. We exited to take a wander in the adjacent perimeter of the botanic garden.  The gardens would no doubt look far more impressive in the summer and the scale of the space seems akin to our national parks as there is 360 kms of cycling track within its precinct.

Skansen Kronan

Our return journey took us back to the fortress, built in 1687-9, that lies in the heart of the city. It is perched on a hilltop, accessible by a zig-zag pathway. It is steep to access on one side and there is a more meandering path on the other. The view from the top was overrated. It looked across the city towards the storm clouds in the distance. 

Nice day for a walk.

There were many locals out walking their pets and not all of them were dogs. We were amazed to see people walking their cats, not on a leash. It was tempting to stay and watch what was about to unfold because two dogs were waiting around the next bend in the path.

Cat walking. No leash.

We turned for Norstad, the large shopping mall near the hotel in search of the yellow all weather coat I didn't buy in Tromsø. Once again to no avail. We found a Pandora store although Jayne didn't like the specifically Swedish offering so there was no purchase.

Mini golf. No nerds out today.

Back at the hotel our room hadn't been serviced so we adjourned to the bar with the computer to sort out our last leg of unbooked travel, Prague to Vienna. After considerable research looking at the two different train companies and whether it was better to book through Prague or Vienna, I finally made a decision. I booked through the Czechia site because it allowed you to select seats where the Austrian site did not and the private train company couldn't guarantee us seats together. Stressful, but done.

Retiring for the evening we discovered our room had been ignored and had not been serviced. Oh, well, we'll discuss that on the way tomorrow.

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.

London Calling (Sydney, Australia and the search for the northern lights)

Have you missed me dear reader? Certainly I have missed travelling and it was quite unusual for me to shelter at home during the humid months. I detest Sydney in February, you can break into a sweat just getting out of bed. Now the the time has arrived for us to chase a cooler clime. It's off to the northern hemisphere, this time in search of those elusive northern lights, followed by a meandering wander through Scandinavia, Germany, Czechia, Austria and finally France. Yes, yes I know we've been to France on multiple occasions, but Paris. Swoon. We love it.

Sorry, there are no photos of interest in this post, but I promise to make amends as our journey unfolds.

The more intricate details of where we are going will be revealed as the blog posts are published. Suffice to say this journey begins in earnest in ... wait for it ... London. Ah, the city I most love to hate. I have tried to like it, really I have, but it's just ... without. Without what you ask? Lots of things really. It's just a passive aggressive version of Melbourne with worse weather (the forecast is for rain every day we are there). We begin in London because there was no choice. More on that later.

Qantas

Let's talk flights. My relationship with Qantas has soured and the resentment lingers. It's like a teenage love affair and being dropped by the person you love. Well, so I've been told. I've been stood up but never dropped. As I was putting together this trip, the airfares Qantas wanted for 2 return Business Class seats was well north of $20K. Even my bad back couldn't stomach (see what I did there?) Business Class at those prices.

Not to be deterred, I phoned; as a platinum frequent flyer, I thought I'd request the release of the required seats. After all, they were being discounted for sale on their website. The response, "Sorry sir, we are not releasing any seats on the requested flights." "But, they are on sale," say I. Same response. Cheers Qantas. So what is the point of being a Qantas FF with the lauded platinum status? Three parts of bugger all, I would suggest.

Once again I resorted to Fly Business For Less as I did some years back. Their service is first class. The result is outbound flights with Vietnam Air into my 'beloved' London and inbound with Qatar from Paris - largely to avoid the ridiculous charges applied at Heathrow. And because of London. The price? Around half what Qantas was asking for seats at the pointy end of the aircraft. We have flown internationally with both airlines before without issue, so this was really a no brainer.

Grudgingly. I admit that I will miss the Qantas first class lounge in Sydney. It is unlikely that we will see it again because my platinum status will dissolve at my next anniversary, largely because I've flown with every other airline but them. It is like being a teenager again and I'm just seeing what is out there. On the plus side, our last two international trips will have netted savings around $14k because we chose not to fly with Qantas. That buys a lot of fancy meals and champagne and we still have lounge access with the other airlines.

Packing

Ah, the perennial issue, compounded by the fact that we are cruising with Viking, chasing the northern lights and then travelling by train across Scandinavia and Europe. Space is a premium. We don't want to be lugging huge bags around the train stations. One remedy was to purchase a vacuum pump and a couple of bags to try and reduce bulk. Our -20°c parkas are, unsurprisingly, extremely bulky. This has proven to be quite effective.

It doesn't look like much, but then it's not all there yet. A mixture of packing cells and vacuum bags to make the best use of space. Despite my best effort, another suitcase was required, although it is carry-on size. For two months of travel from the frozen Arctic to Paris in Spring, we have managed to contain all our clothes in one large suitcase, 2 carry-on cases and our backpacks. Pretty happy with that.

My vacuum packed snow jacket. Gloves for size comparison.

All ready to go.

Chasing the lights

The northern lights or Aurora Borealis have been on my list for quite some time. The quandary was how to see them? We spoke with some Swedes we met in Budapest a few years back and they recommended a place in Sweden, naturally. The concept of hanging around the frozen wastelands of anywhere for an indeterminate length of time did not set my heart a flutter. And the cold is most definitely not on Jayne's list of things to get excited about.

Then my travel agent (yes, dear reader, I do use one sporadically) suggested a Viking cruise up the coast of Norway. I had already checked out Hurtigruten but the level of comfort and cabin space did not live up to Jayne's exacting standards. So Viking it is. Tragically, the cruise leaves from London. Hence the title, that 1980 classic from the Clash. You can relive your memories here. The only plus side to this is that we get spend to spend some time with Zoë before we sail away on our quest.

Traps for young players

Ok, Ok, I'm not young, nor am I an inexperienced traveller, but that didn't stop me making a rookie error. Accommodation, as you will discover in subsequent posts, is a mixture of hotel and AirBnB. In London I opted for a hotel that was in proximity to Fenchurch Street Station because that is where we board the train for Tilbury which is where the ship departs.

Ever mindful that London is ridiculously expensive, I decided to use some accrued Accor points to defray the cost of our stay. There is a Novotel within walking distance of Fenchurch Street Station. Excellent. I had multiple tabs open in my attempt to find the best accommodation. I jumped from maps to the hotel sites to the Accor site to make the booking. No Booking.Com problems for this traveller.

Hotel booked. The spreadsheet that covers the trip, our accommodation, mode of travel, places of interest has been slowly populated over the months preceding our departure. As February 24 drew closer, I explored how to get from the despised Heathrow to our hotel. And that is when I discovered it.

The Novotel near Fenchurch Street Station is Novotel London Tower Bridge and the hotel I booked is the Novotel London Bridge. What's in a word? About 2km in distance, 20 minutes on a bus or 30 minutes on foot and a river crossing. The names are so similar. Ah well. We still have a bed.

Sydney to London

The usual quandary of how to get to the airport was solved when Uber sent me a 50% off your next ride voucher. Pick up booked for 11:30am, for a 3:15pm flight. From our door to the SkyTeam Lounge in a under an hour.

We arrived at our hotel in London after over 30 hours in transit. Vietnam Airlines weren't faultless, but they were very good. The staff were lovely and attentive, the food was excellent, the flights were on time and (as a tier 2 airline as I've seen them described) Business still comes with a lie flat bed. The down side? Well, first world problems. The Lounge in Sydney is pretty average, the one in Hà Nôi is better. There is a limited selection of wine available in the lounge or on the aircraft. And the staff don't offer re-fills as attentively as say Singapore or Qantas. A small price to pay for a flat bed that allows me to walk pain-free after a long flight.

Heathrow. Really what is there to say? If you know, you know. It's like covid. Best avoided. The disembarkation process and baggage collection went quickly and smoothly. Surprisingly. No doubt the e-passports have streamlined the process. The baggage collection area was a seething, heaving mass of humanity. And their over-sized bags and squealing, crying children. All that was required to create hell was the sound of leaf blower in the background. 

The signage to get to the train was inadequate, at one point we were directed into a blank wall. The staff, posted at regular intervals to be of assistance, weren't really. Unless you cornered them. Despite it all we made the train.

And then London. The city I love to hate. Where to start today? In an attempt to make us feel at home, there was track work on the Underground and the line we had decided to use to get to the hotel was closed. It wasn't a huge inconvenience except to use the Elizabeth line cost almost 3 times as much. Almost £14 compared to just over £5. The benefit? None really. It's 10 minutes faster than the Piccadilly line. However, it does beat the estimated $400 + for a cab! Does anyone actually catch A cab to London from Heathrow?

The good bit? It's not raining so the 10 minute walk to the hotel from the tube was easily negotiated. We had arranged for an early check-in at the hotel because we landed at 7:30am. However, the hotel has a midday check-out time and was fully booked. Why would you offer an early check-in, for a fee, if you can't deliver?

The result: we are sitting in the hotel bar drinking very bad coffee, well it is London, charging our phones, sorting the e-sim and finishing this blog before we finally get to shower, change and go hang with Zoë.

And so we are back. I will blog frequently but I'm not guaranteeing a daily dose.

Until next time.