I had a great night at the pub last night, especially since Trent was there. I’ve known Trent for about ten years now, maybe longer, through ABBAMAIL. He’s been living in Ireland for the last year or so, and is back briefly to visit friends and family. All the usual crowd were there, minus John who wasn’t feeling so well. And we got to catch up and chat about a whole bunch of stuff.
The rest of the week has been fairly quiet, although I’ve got a reasonably busy night coming up with the launch of the Sydney Writers Festival and the Opening Night of Pippin. Pippin is the first production from Kookaburra, the newly formed national musical theatre company, and features Matthew Robinson who I’ve seen previously in cabaret and in Eurobeat in the title role. If I get time, I’ll blog about it later tonight. If not, tomorrow sometime. See ya.
Graeme aka Barbie Rogers shows off the prizes I won at the Swedish Bazaar
There was four or five of us standing around on Goulburn Street tonight, waiting for the early class to finish before we could go in.
As we looked – collectively – at the wndow, we saw notices for the Swedish film night, and for the Swedish church in Sydney.
“Did you go to the church fete?”, someone asked the group.
I responded in the affirmative, declaring I’d won some books as a prize, which was exciting.
One of the guys from class and I also chatted about having seen a Swedish film in the lead up to Christmas.
After about a two month break, and having not had the discipline of weekly classes, I sensed a certain nervousness in the group as we stood outside and waited.
But as I looked to the other side of the glass, I was reminded of how far we had come.
On the other side of the glass, there was a group of new learners, whereas we were up to level four or five now, I can’t recall.
And the most fundamental difference between classes last year, and tonight’s class was that we chatted more.
The group was smaller, just five of us – Grant being away – and so we were able to engage more in conversation.
It wasn’t just a case of a quick answer to a question and then on to the next person. There were follow up questions. And we needed to have something more to say, which I personally found very exciting.
And we also chatted more about social and cultural things. I mentioned, for example, my forthcoming holiday, and the Swedish film being screened this weekend at Dendy Opera Quays.
And we chatted about social events which happen at Cafe Svensson tonight, including the upcoming coffee and bun evenings on Wednesdays. As the Swedes go into lent, they eat a particular type of cream bun called, semla. According to Wikipedia,
…the semla consists of a cardamom-spiced wheat bun which has its top cut off and insides scooped out, and is then filled with a mix of the scooped-out bread crumbs, milk and almond paste, topped with whipped cream. The cut-off top serves as a lid and is dusted with powdered sugar.
It kind sounds and looks like it might taste like one of my childhood favourites, a cream horn.
So it’s very exciting and fun to be back at Swedish class.
Homework for me for next week includes writing about my preparation for Sweden, and how I would prepare to record a radio interview in Swedish while I’m there.
About 15 years ago—I can’t recall the exact date, though I could easily look it up—I met an American woman living here in Stockholm named Sandra Carpenter. If you search her name on this blog, you’ll find plenty of references to her. We both had blogs back then, and somehow we started following each other; there was just a lovely, instant connection.
When I eventually met her in person in Sweden, I remember writing a post titled “She Exists.” Over the years, every time I visited, catching up with Sandra was a given. She was married to an Australian man, Robert, which added another layer of connection—it was nice to have someone to talk to about Australian things who truly appreciated the context.
Sadly, Sandra passed away quite suddenly a few years ago. It was devastating. Through her, however, I had met other locals like Roger and Nicole. While we’ve kept in touch via Facebook, I’d completely lost contact with Robert; he isn’t much for social media or digital updates.
A Long-Overdue Catch-up
When I announced my return to Sweden on Facebook a few months ago, Roger and Nicole reached out to suggest a drink. What was meant to be a quick catch-up turned into three hours at Hotel Rival. It has a wonderful vibe and was the perfect backdrop to bridge the nine-year gap since my last visit.
So much has changed. For me, there is the reality of my illness and amputation. For them, they’ve downsized from a large house on the outskirts of Stockholm to an apartment in the city centre and are now navigating their mid-to-late 50s, spending several months a year at their new place in another European country.
The most wonderful surprise, however, was learning that Robert is still here in Stockholm, living in the apartment he and Sandra shared. Like the rest of us, he’s contemplating the future—considering whether to use his Australian citizenship or his US Green Card to live elsewhere.
I went to bed last night feeling incredibly emotionally full. I even woke up in the middle of the night just thinking about how beautiful it was to reconnect. It felt as though the conversation we started years ago had simply continued without a hitch.
Finding a New Rhythm
This trip, I’ve fallen into a new routine: breakfast, then catching a bus to somewhere random. I never used to take the bus here—I usually stuck to the Tunnelbana (metro)—but my perspective has shifted.
As an amputee, I have to be more intentional in my travel. I can’t just walk for kilometres in one direction anymore. The buses are accessible, frequent, and actually offer a better way to sightsee. Yesterday, I just hopped on and rode until the driver told me it was the last stop, then turned around and headed back. It’s a great way to explore without overexerting myself.
A Change of Scenery
I’ve also moved hotels. I started at the Radisson Blu Waterfront for convenience, but I’ve now moved to Södermalm—the trendy “South Island”—to a place called Hellstens Glashus. It’s closer to the pubs I like and the Mariatorget station.
It’s a “couples’ hotel” with a very romantic, boutique feel. The design is stunning, though the ground floor is literally carved from the bedrock of Södermalm. While it’s beautiful to look at, it’s a bit of a challenge to navigate on a prosthetic leg! I have to take it very slowly across those uneven surfaces, but the room itself is fantastic.
I woke up this morning to see snow falling outside my window. It’s time to head out, find a bus, and see where the city takes me today.
There’s a really heart-breaking moment in one of the films by Omar Chowdhury, currently showing at Sydney’s 4A Gallery. The film shows a young child (maybe 7-10 years old), begging, crawling along a busy street in Bangladesh. He obviously has a physical disability of some kind and so his movement is painfully slow and deliberate. As he crawls along, people drop coins in a bucket of money he’s pushing ahead of him.
Then all of a sudden there’s a commotion, and the crowd begins to part, as a large group of men come running towards him. As he makes his way towards the side of the footpath, a woman comes out from nowhere and takes away the bucket of money, putting it to the side for him. I still wonder if she was a kind stranger, or perhaps his mother. As the crowd comes through, our attention becomes focussed on them. He disappears from the film.
At first I couldn’t work out what the crowd coming down the street was all about. After thinking it might have been a protest, I soon realised there was a religious element to it all, as the crowd made their way indoors. I’ve never been to an Islamic religious service, so I don’t know if it was typical of what occurs. I noticed, however, it seemed to have some of the elements and theatricality of Christian Pentecostal services. :)
I was the only one at the exhibition when I visited today, and so it was really great to have the time and space to sit in the dark and to really take in this and other films. Other films by Chowdhury were more “day to day”: there’s a woman plucking some of the hairs from her forehead, there’s a couple of boys fooling around on a bike/cart. Cinematically, the films were visually really impressive, but they also had the informality of a home video. The shot in the religious service was wonderful, because the proximity of the camera allowed you to feel simultaneously both a participant and an observer.
I spent an hour or so looking at the works today, but I’m sure to go back and spend a few more hours there, as there’s lots more to see and absorb. The exhibition closes on August 2.
As we left dinner at the very charming and tasty tapas bar “Vida” in Paddington (Brisbane, not Sydney), I asked my friends “What was the name of that cafe/restaurant in Paddington”. Was it Scribbles or something?”.
“Scribbles”? No! Of course, I was confusing it with another favourite from the time, the legendary 1990s cafe in Wagga Wagga where you had crayons and butcher’s paper to delight you as you waited for your meal.
Vida does tapas in Paddington, Brisbane
My friend soon corrected that it was in fact “Puzzles” that I was thinking of. It’s closed now, though the building remains.
“And what was the name of that gourmet hamburger restaurant in the city?”, I further asked. “Parrots” I was reminded by one of my friends who added… “And you could have blue cheese on your burger. It was very sophisticated back then”.
As a university student in Brisbane in the mid-1980s, my tastes (and budget) didn’t go much beyond Puzzles and Parrots. I’m sure there were far more sophisticated places to dine, or perhaps not?
My friend – cropped – wearing a puffy shoulder dress, a sports girl bag, photographic timestamps and Parrots – Brisbane in the 80s.
It was a lovely trip down memory lane and a reminder for me that most of my cultural references to Brisbane date back to the 1980s when I lived here. I’d finished high school and soon after had moved to university to study, and then later to work in Brisbane. Lismore has always been “home”, but with the death of dad (in 1982) and mum (in 1984), I guess Brisbane was the place where I “grew up” in lots of ways. It was where I began to work out who I was in life, beyond that of son, grandson and so on.
“Every time I come back to Brisbane I wonder what my life would have been like if I’d stayed”, I told my friends over dinner. Of course, I don’t know the answer, and it’s a somewhat academic exercise to even contemplate how my life would have been different. But I certainly know it would have been different. I would have been closer to my family in Brisbane, I’m sure. (I’m renegotiating that relationship now). I may also have been doing a significantly different job to the one I am now. I may still be working at Coles. I may have found love. I may have had kids. I may have become a school teacher in Rockhampton. Who knows?
In many ways, I’m getting to know Brisbane again after a long, long break. For a long time, it was only an occasional visit to see family, though we would mostly catch up in Lismore, not Brisbane. But in the last year, I’ve been back a couple of times. First, sadly for Gloria’s funeral, and then this week for work.
For a bunch of reasons, I suspect I’ll be returning a bit more in the future. Or maybe not? Either way, the last few months have “updated” my connection with Brisbane, and I suspect my cultural references will eventually move beyond gourmet hamburger restaurants and long-closed cafes.
“Would you like a glass of water to start with?”, I was asked by the waitress at Redfern’s Continental Cafe. I’m obviously not a regular. “No, just white wine will be fine..”, I told her with a smile.
“I’ve been trying to get in here for months”, my friend told me, as we sat down to eat last night. As it was, without a booking, the best we could manage was a couple of seats at the bar. Even then, I’d arrived at 6pm, early by almost any standard. So, as I sat and waited for my friend, I sat quietly and drank a glass of wine, and had a brief look through the menu.
Thinking back about the experience now, I’m struggling to remember what it was like, It’s funny: you go to a restaurant and the day after, you definitely remember the really great and the really terrible experiences, but somehow you struggle to remember those places which were just fine. The day after going to the Continental Cafe at Redfern, that’s the headspace I’m in. But I remember the meals were of a good size, and tasty, and not too expensive. Nothing exceptional, but good.
Continental Cafe – Redfern
PS Went back again on Thursday night, and have added a further photograph.
The last time I was in Stockholm (July 2015), the debate about the deconstruction and reconstruction of Slussen (the main transport interchange in the middle of the city) was in full flight. Although the plans were well-known by then, there was still a strong voice of resistance to the planned changes.
Slussen ConstructionSlussen ConstructionSlussen Construction
Almost two years later, I’m not sure where the debate is up to, but I know one thing for sure: it’s happening. Along with the ongoing works at the National Museum, the City Museum, the swimming baths at Medborgarplatsen and now Sergel’s Torg, Stockholm is, like Sydney, a city “under construction”.
Of course, the other thing that’s happened since I was last here was the terrorist attack only a few weeks ago. As I watched them from afar, I was reminded of arriving here in the wake of Anders Brevik’s attack in Oslo a few years ago. I arrived here the afternoon of the attack, only to find Stockholm, too, fearful of what might follow. As I walked past the department store where the recent attack occurred I saw a school group preparing tribute post-it notes, and pinning to them to the wall.
Ahlens MemorialAhlens Memorial
After about 24-hours of flying, I arrived here just after 7 am yesterday morning. “You’re lucky. At about 4m the entire city was completely fogged in”, my friend Sandra told me, adding, “you’ve brought the warm weather, finally, to Stockholm”. Around lunchtime yesterday, quite randomly, I actually ran into a couple of blokes I know from Melbourne, who complained the entire time they’ve been here has been beset with clouds, rain, and even some light snow. “Well you brought the weather from Melbourne, I brought the weather from Sydney”, I thought to myself.
Back in Stockholm
So far, I’ve had lunch at an old favourite Urban Deli, wandered around the city, had a “jet lag nap” in the afternoon and then met Sandra for a bite to eat and drinks, which included a serendipitous meeting with a friend of hers with common Eurovision/Melodifestivalen interests. As a result our names are “on the door” for an appearance on Saturday by Isaiah Firebrace, Australia’s entrant in Eurovision. Life’s good.
I had a great night at the pub last night, especially since Trent was there. I’ve known Trent for about ten years now, maybe longer, through ABBAMAIL. He’s been living in Ireland for the last year or so, and is back briefly to visit friends and family. All the usual crowd were there, minus John who wasn’t feeling so well. And we got to catch up and chat about a whole bunch of stuff. 
