Today was my first full day in Stockholm, and I spent it tiring myself out walking up and down and around the streets of the city center. I brought along what I thought would be a very useful aid, my lonely planet travel guide. While the guide admittedly helped me reorient myself after getting truly lost, my pride kept me from really using it too much. I think that I was the shiest tourist about. I was a true hipster about the whole ordeal, and kept not wanting to look like a tourist at all. Imagine me bumbling about, trying to look certain, hiding my camera in the sleeve of my coat. I must have looked quite silly, really.
And I sounded silly too. The oddest thing happened. When I went to buy my month pass for the t-bana, I was jittery. Living in Montreal has already given me a healthy fear of speaking English which I have seemingly carried with me to Sweden. So when I had to ask for help at the t-bana, a strange voice came from me. It was English yes, but oddly I spoke it with a pseudo-British accent: not my accent for sure, but a far leap away from the queen's English or whatnot.
The t-bana is quite different from Montreal's metro. For one, it doesn't smell like pee. At least, not in the stations I frequented. I had been told that many were designed by local artists or something, but I had not been told that they actually look like caves. I should have taken a picture of them, they looked like a chicer version of the batman batcave. Like if Batman had gone through an art-deco phase.
Above ground, I had the mission of finding Stockholm's alleged equivalent to Montreal's plateau, a place where hipsters roam the streets in a similar fashion: apathetic yet painfully trendy. However, I got off the t-centrallen and went entirely the wrong way. But it was okay, I found some churches and museums along the way and the token tourist photo ops. To be honest, by the time I got to hipsterland (Sodermalm) I was tired, hungry and afraid of all the prices in SEK. "20SEK for a coffee? No, that can't be right. That's not a number easily divisible by 6.3! And even if it was, or even if I could figure it out in my head, that's too much!" Similarly, I went in a grocery store and panicked when everything was in the double digits. This is going to take some getting used to.
I've included one of my favorite pictures from the day. It is of a sign advertising lobster that is (I'm assuming) from Canada.
And if anyone can identify who this charming fish-wielding fellow is, I would be quite appreciative. I forgot to check the name on the plaque and the quality isn't too great. I don't know whether it is supposed to be a full grown man or else a child whose parents have a sense of humour concerning hairstyling. "Here Gustav, go pose with the fish! Ja, Ja, your hair looks fine!"
Hello (internet) friends!
One way or another, I've convinced you to click some link and arrive at my blog. I haven't tried maintaining one of these since I was thirteen, and that one quickly became a public venue for me to spew my vapid white girl problems. I vowed never to repeat my mistake again, unless I had a worthy cause. Seven years later (with a little more austerity in my emoticon use) I think I'm finally ready to try this again.
In five days, I'll be boarding a plane to Stockholm looking pretty fly with my giant backpacks (yes, two of them), rubber boots and an oh-so-secret passport holder. You know, the kind that you wear under your shirt or whatnot, as if that were somehow more convenient than the normal wallet in purse approach. To make matters worse, it sits just below the waistline of my comfy travel pants, thus assuring that I will look like a pervert at some point en-route to Sweden. "What's that? You need to see my passport? Well, just excuse me while I discretely reach into my pants to fetch it..."
I really don't understand the advantage of those passport-fanny-pack things. Are they supposed to somehow disguise my identity as a tourist? As if the locals in where ever-the-flip I will be just saunter about their daily business with such contraptions secured around their waists? Perhaps the passport-fannypack was in fact designed by pick-pocketers as a systematic way to identify North American tourists where ever they crop up in the world. I'm not one to entertain conspiracy theories, but I think there might be something to this one. Nothing screams affluent tourist like the passport fannypack.
I'll keep this post short, but here's the basic info on what I intend to do with this blog. As mentioned, I'll be in Stockholm real soon. I'll be spending two months in Sweden, doing a case study for the McGill Institute for Health and Social Policy on disability policy and equity in the labour market. After those two months, I'll be roaming around Europe trying to take a scenic detour to London (where my flight back to Montreal will be leaving). I've received some indication from friends and family that they might miss me during these three months, and that they might want to have updates on my travels. So, for the summer I will update this blog as regularly as possible on all my European adventures. My lovely Montreal roommate, Elise, has graciously lent me her camera for these purposes. As a result, she will be bestowed the best travel gift upon my arrival. Sorry to all other folks. It doesn't mean I love you less.
AND, since I will miss you all dearly, please post on this blog. We all know how expensive it is to call internationally, and the time difference will likely result in some communication delay. So feel free to give me a shout this way, or at my skype account (my skype account is my first and last name, and I'm the only one with my name based out of Montreal as far as I know).
P.S Kanadensiska is Canadian in Swedish if you haven't figured out the wonders of google translate yet!
