Swedenblog

I was perched on a stool in a café by the baggage hall in Terminal 1 at Heathrow, reading about the Joad family setting off for California in their over laden car to truck conversion in the Grapes of Wrath when there was Dom. He and the rest of the passengers on his flight from Edinburgh had apparently been circling the clouds before the plane could land.

We headed for terminal three where we checked in and established ourselves in the SAS lounge (courtesy of Dom’s gold thingy). After some water and a V&T we boarded the plane where I ate a Dime Bar and Dom had something he liked.

At Arlanda we jumped into a taxi operated by an Iranian man intent on cheery conversation and speculation that we were only there for the Swedish girls. He dropped us in town for our appointment at the Ice Bar. However the Ice Bar folk had no record of this date and so we arranged to come back after dinner.

We wandered towards our hotel which was on an island called Gamla Stan. My room was neat and compact. There was a TV mounted on a bracket at shoulder height at the foot of my bed so I needn’t have packed my prism glasses.

I persuaded Dom that we should have Tapas for dinner, as there was a nice looking bar round the corner from the hotel. The food was tasty and afterwards, Michael, the barman set about getting us a bit drunk with various shots including one that tasted of bubble gum and a fiery one (called a Flat Liner) comprising sambuca, Tabasco (quite a lot of it) and tequila. Consequently we were warmed up for our rematch with the desk staff at the Ice Bar.


Inuit, I didn't; how to speak Swedish

This time though we were sped through check-in and in no time we were wearing our silver ponchos and gazing through the window of the airlock into the misty depths of the bar. Indeed everything inside was ice, the tables, the sculpture, the walls and even our glasses. There was quite a party atmosphere, from what I remember. Two Swedish blokes wouldn’t believe that Dom was English, such is his proficiency with the local lingo. Indeed they kept speaking to me in Swedish as they thought there was some scam going on. The butcher (cos that’s what he said he was) and his mate must have been a bit loud, although I don’t remember this, as the bar man would not let me buy them a drink (for clarification, he was happy to serve us). This created a slightly awkward hiatus but when we saw that the blokes were chatting to a Danish girl we re-entered the airlock and returned to the Tapas bar via another bar. More odd shots.


Odd shot


I watched a nature programme about the ten most deadly snakes in the world the following morning before Dom rang enquiring after my health. Such was the size of my bathroom and the relationship between the basin and the toilet that the latter had to be mounted from a jaunty angle. Why this should interfere with proceedings I don’t know.


After breakfast we headed towards the city centre and spent a relaxed day shopping and eating. I did some Zhan Zhuang (Jam Jong); standing like a tree in the garden that surrounds the main library. We had good burgers before setting off by cab for the Kent gig. The venue was a large circus sized big top tent. It was unusually well decorated and lit inside, quite eerie. It was raining hard and every so often a small torrent would find a gap between the sheets of canvas. There was a digital clock that counted down to the band starting, we arrived with about 1 hour 20 to go.

Impressively, the band started playing on the zero seconds to go. There was a zingy atmosphere, I was squashed up against a couple of young (I would guess experimental) lesbians who were experimenting quite a bit. Dom was squashed up against a heterosexual woman, though he had his back to her. The music was great, I knew about half the songs but enjoyed even those I’d never heard.

After the music it was back to the Tapas bar for some more bubble gum (in my case) and something more refined for Dom.


Photo opportunity

Next morning a brisk walk across town to the site where the Museum of Modern art had been temporarily located whilst the new building was made ready and then on by cab to the real one. I really enjoyed myself. There was an architectural section which featured many beautiful models including the Michelangelo Laurentian Library which I have visited in Florence on account of it purportedly being inspirational in Mark Rothko’s room at the Tate Modern (originally done for a New York Restaurant). Mark Rothko; he was an interesting man. Whilst I remember, I must go to the Matisse decorated Chapel in Vence when I am in the neighbourhood.


Museum of Modern Art

We spent a very relaxed rest of the day before heading for the airport in the late afternoon. The journey home seemed to go by very quickly as there was lots to talk about. I think it would have been good if the journey had taken longer.

Thanks Dom.