“But you did manage to really do a lot this weekend”, my friend Marita said this afternoon during the 23-minute-lunch I could have with her at her home. Staying with her is really such a wonderful thing because I get to come and go as I want and she’s taking care of me with advice, food and most of all an extremely understanding attitude towards my day time absence during most time of my stay.
Other people run marathons. I do the Stockholm Social Race. I’ve been doing that for many years now, several times a year, but I feel my performance is not improving. I am still a time optimist and I still try to fit in too many people into too little hours. Because what am I supposed to do, who am I supposed to say no to if everyone is such inspiring, cosy, beloved company? As I only had 72 hours this time, of which I had to work almost one whole day, I already missed two thirds of the people I would have wanted to hang out with, too.
For being able to see the remaining one third, among them my French friend Laure exemplifying that if you don’t meet regularly you’ll miss serious life changes ( since we last met a few months ago, she managed to get married and is due to become both a mom and a Swedish citizen shortly), I cut down on sleep this time. I’m sure that’ll haunt me until next weekend, failing to catch up on rest, but it was worth it. My first night I got to spend a calm, much needed girls’ night with Marita on her sofa, the next day after work I hung out with Bianca. We headed to Gallerian and ate a foccacia because that’s one of our earliest memories of our friendship from seven years ago. Back then, she convinced me to dye my hair blonde and introduced me to the Italian toast, all in Gallerian. If they were not constanly rebuilding and opening and closing shops in Gallerian it would have felt just like back in the day.
Friday evening saw even more nostalgia when we had a somewhat unexpected Uppsala reunion. What had originally been planned as a dinnner with Tabea and me turned into a lovely meet up of my former room mates William, Hélene and Paul – first time in four years in that constellation!
For Saturday, I had vowed to not go through all the shops I usually roam. I can nevertheless inform you that le derni cri is flounces at the shoulders and pleated long skirts. Instead of buying those, I looked for a new pencil skirt – an item I actually needed. Åhléns has taken out all my favorite brands so after Malin, who had come up from Karlstad to see me, and I left there empty-handed, she said, “You know, Helen, I’m thinking, as you like old ladies’ stores, shouldn’t we check at Dea Axelssons?” Ouch! Dea Axelssons is really an old ladies’ stores. Even for me. However, Dea Axelssons also had the greatest skirt. So I guess now that I’m getting closer to 30, it’s come that far, I’ve passed that Dea-frontier.
Malin had planned quite a happening for Saturday night: she’d booked us into a karaoke room and invited her former co-workers to come. I was very impressed with the performances to say the least. These (impossible-not-to-like) guys could sing, even without previous alcohol intake. In Germany, you can hardly find a man who will dare to sing in the comfortable anonymity of a choir let alone get on stage and do a whole-hearted “Circle of Life”-show. There is no denying it, Sweden is a singing nation and I love that. I think I personally mostly excelled at the schlager with “Det gör ont” being my most expressive act.
Somehow the night kept continuing even after the karaoke and I fear that all the money I saved on not buying new clothes went to buying alcohol. On the list of things I do not miss about Stockholm goes, apart from the gravel on the streets between October and May that keeps getting into my shoes, the following: alcohol prices (15 euros for a tiny cocktail), ridiculous admittance policies at clubs, artificial shortage of seats (in pubs), space (in clubs) and housing (in general). Going out is so difficult in that city, it made me appreciate the German culture and especially the Rhineland ways of going out. Maybe it was that that prompted a sudden emergence of #dizzelpride because I started selling Düsseldorf to everyone around me. Inexpensive wine, 25 degrees and sunshine, relaxed people hanging out by the water, excellent affordable sushi – Malin remarked surprised that I’d never advertised my city of residence this well before.
We concluded the night at McDonald’s after the casino strictly refused to let us in. (I had hoped to win 4 million Swedish crowns to be able to afford a two-room-apartment in the outskirts of Stockholm.) Going to the casino meant going back and forth between the South and North Island which gave us the opportunity of analysing all the advertisments in the subway. I will probably never cease to be intruiged by Swedish advertisement and I tell myself I managed to instill at least some enthusiasm among my company.
I came home at 5 am which makes that night quite a milestone in my Stockholm history. Also because it was the night I at first try correctly identified a southern Småland dialect in one of Malin’s friends and another of her friends misidentified me as being from the north of Sweden, something Malin non-chalantly commented with, “You may give me the credit for that”.
Needless to say, Sunday was a hungover, tired day but any possible I’m-gonna-die-feeling was blown away by the radiance of Andrea who I met at Cafe String. (Which my phone kept autocorrecting to Cafe Strunt.) Because Marita lives in the south, I’ve put most of my activities this time on Södermalm to shorten my commute. The funny thing is though that I barely ever hang out on Södermalm so I literally have to check google maps not to get lost. (So does Andrea. We must have looked like tourists but really we just rarely left Östermalm/Gärdet/City, I guess.) That did not stop a German girl to ask me for directions though, something that made me very happy as I apparently still have an air of I-know-where-I’m-going. I succefully pretended to know where Bellmansgatan is located. Also, I deeply impressed her with my German language skills.
Despite the flight being overbooked, I made it home. In the security check, they frowned confused at my eclectic collection of imports: cheese, colored feathers, paper easter eggs and snus. Things change: before, I always would’ve brought the Amelia magazine and I’d always have been heart-broken to leave. Today, I buy Västerbottensost and I’m relatively okay with returning to spring temperatures. Relatively.
Citatsamling del 31, Stockholmseditionen
Hen är tysk, men trevlig.
Hennes efternamn är som en tagg i mitt öga.
Du är en riktig hetspelle. – Det kan jag ta. Det är faktiskt nåt fint!