My final day in Stockholm was a fairly brief one, with a planned afternoon flight back to Sydney. Once again, I woke early to overcast conditions. Yes, the weather’s turned, and so it’s time for me to return. I went out for breakfast, wandered around for a while, paid a visit to one of my favourite photographic spots in Stockholm, returned to the apartment to tidy up and mop the floor, and then it was off to the airport, to return home, hoping the travel gods would smile upon me.
KatarinahissenSlussen under development 2017Swedish newspapers today, mentioned an actor’s “battle with cancer”.
You know when you’re sitting on a plane, and you see people coming down the aisle and you think to yourself “please don’t sit next to me, please let the seat next to me spare?”. I’d already played my own game of “travel bingo” where I check in online, and try to decide which seat is most likely to have a spare seat next to them. If there’s already someone in the window seat, I’ll choose the aisle seat, because no one ever wants to have the seat in the middle. And then I’ll always choose either as far to the front as I can find, or as far to the back, on the basis that people tend towards the middle.
A lot of the time, these made-up rules turn out to be correct. On the first leg of the flight, I’d chosen an aisle seat in the centre three, where someone had already chosen the other aisle seat. “Oh no, it’s a big beefy Kiwi”, I texted a friend, as a man came towards me, wanting to settle in the middle seat. After a short while, it emerged there were some free seats, and so both men actually moved, leaving me with three entire seats to myself. Just as I was about to spread out, a Thai woman asked me (in Swedish) if one of the seats was free. So in the end, it wasn’t so bad, just me and one other person sharing three seats for the first leg of the flight home.
Arriving at Bangkok Airport, with a two-hour layover, I checked into the transit hotel. At about $21 per hour, my first instinct was that was too expensive, as all I wanted was to have a shower. But when I realised, they also had good internet, and an unlimited buffet/bar, I figured it was the best $42 I could have spent. A shower, a change of socks and underwear, a bite to eat, and lots of lovely fruit juice, I was well and truly ready for the second leg of the flight home. Once again, the travel gods were friendly, with just myself, and a young woman from the Czech Republic (on her first big visit to Australia) sharing seats.
Twenty four hours later and I was home, feeling not so bad after all. It was a wonderful trip, which came at just the right time. I start a new job next Monday, and so it was great to take a break, to re-group in my mind, and to visit such a great city. Goodbye Stockholm. See you soon.
After a week or so in bed, or sitting on the couch, and where my only excitement has been going to hospital and getting my bandages done, it was time to re-connect with the real world.
For a bunch of reasons, a good friend and I haven’t seen each other this year. A couple of weeks ago she and I set today as a good day to catch-up, with clear schedules. So, despite feeling a little tired and sore, I decided there was no way I was going to cancel.
But where to meet? Thanks to a tip-off by Wine Muse on Google+, I was keen to try Love, Tilly Devine, a relatively new bar on Crown Lane in Darlinghurst. It’s a “pretty serious” wine bar, and the drinks don’t come cheap. But it has a really nice vibe. It’s groovy for sure, but not so groovy that I felt uncomfortable. In fact, very comfortable in the surrounds. With a concrete floor, “rustic” furnishings, a turntable which played 50s and 60s jazz, it was a great spot to sit comfortably, to enjoy a glass of wine, to read a book quietly, and to await my friend. Meanwhile, there was a group of 20-something blokes to my left, a single woman in the corner, a couple of middle-aged business types in the window, soon to be replaced by a couple of 20-something couples, and upstairs, a larger group of middle-aged business types. No attitude.
The same could be said of the place where we went for dinner, the nearby La Brasserie. My friend had a steak and I had the calves livers and we were both very satisfied with the quality and taste of the meal.
Love, Tilly Devine in Darlinghurst
Love, Tilly Devine in Darlinghurst
Calves livers? Yummo. I grew up eating all that kind of stuff, and love it still. Over dinner I was reminded of when I travelled with my friend David a couple of years ago in France. Despite his rural French upbringing and his subsequent exposure to all kinds of offal and exotic cheese, he would much prefer McDonalds. His mother LOVED my visit, as it meant she had someone to share her more exotic French food tastes with.
Lunch was good, though, as I enjoyed a traditional French beef dish with tagliatelle. It was a really nice meal and the perfect way to spend a reasonably wet Friday afternoon. And tonight I’ve had an even more traditional/authentic dining experience staying with David at his mother’s place. She’s a great cook, and her garlic potatoes are known far and wide. She also really appreciated the fact that I loving trying out new foods. In contrast to David who thinks goats cheese belongs in the garage, I thought it was excellent, slightly melted and served on toast. His mother seemed to agree as we munched into it with ear to ear smiles. Does life get any better?
“Would you like the desert menu?”, we were asked, and we both emphatically agreed “no” since the main course had been more than enough. I’m not sure what it would be like on a busier night, but it also a place where you could enjoy a meal and conversation without noting there were people sitting around you. Très bien!
So yeah, a good night. And especially good to take that first step towards re-connecting with the human race. I have one more day off work, before heading back on Thursday. I’m not sure I’m 100% ready, but will give it a go nonetheless. I actually have to go to Canberra for the day/night, and so have needed to organise somewhere to go to get my dressings done. Late this afternoon, I made a call to a local hospital there, and within a couple of hours they called me back to confirm all was okay, and they could do them for me on Thursday. Brilliant!
You know how when you travel you end up with a pocket full of coins you can’t do anything with. The exchange bureaus won’t accept them, and of course you don’t feel as though you can throw them away (they’re money after all). In writing this, I’ve realised I could probably give them to the poor and needy, though you don’t often see too many of them at the airport when you’re leaving. So I’ve found myself with a suitcase weighed down with half a dozen varieties of coins from countries which don’t have the Euro.
It’s a shame we couldn’t have used them yesterday morning as David and I found ourself in a roadside cafe hoping for a coffee and croissant this morning. We discovered we only had about three or four Euros between us as we found ourselves on the roadside in a small village without an ATM. “Ten, twenty, thirty”, we counted, until finally we discovered we could afford a coffee each, but only small ones.
David and I were on our way to Fontevraud Abbey. Amongst its many claims to fames is that its said to be the final resting place for the likes of Richard The Lionheart. I absolutely loved the abbey. It had a great peacefulness about it, as you might expect, and I felt the integrity of the place had been maintained through the restoration process.
After a visit to the abbey, we got some much needed cash and found a place for lunch.
“They are English”, a loud Frenchman declared pointing to David and I at lunch. “No we’re not”, David told him defiantly pointing out that he was French and that I was Australian. Even though I don’t speak French I certainly picked up the references to eating kangaroos that littered his conversation with his wife (?) and the waitress. He’s the only French man so far I’ve found who has lived up to the under-deserved reputation of his countrymen for arrogance.
Lunch was good, though, as I enjoyed a traditional French beef dish with tagliatelle. It was a really nice meal and the perfect way to spend a reasonably wet Friday afternoon.
And tonight I’ve had an even more traditional/authentic dining experience staying with David at his mother’s place. She’s a great cook, and her garlic potatoes are known far and wide. She also really appreciated the fact that I loving trying out new foods. In contrast to David who thinks goats cheese belongs in the garage, I thought it was excellent, slightly melted and served on toast. His mother seemed to agree as we munched into it with ear to ear smiles. Does life get any better?
About a year ago when I was working in Darwin, I visited the Museum and Art Gallery of the Northern Territory and discovered the works of Kaylene Whiskey. In the time since, she’s become a firm favourite of mine, and some of her works have been recently shown at Sydney’s Museum Of Contemporary Art. Because her art touches on the popular culture icons of many Indigenous women of a similar age to her own, I love the “truth” in her works.
This year, working in Darwin, I’ve been able to attend the actual announcement of the National Aboriginal & Torres Strait Islander Art Awards
As well as the art, there were some terrific dance and musical performances by, amongst others, Djuki Mala (formerly Chooky Dancers) of “Singing In The Rain”; Electric Fields performing “Pukulpa” and Mojo Juju (who has an amazing voice and stage presence).
A really memorable night.
Dancers to open the art awardsDjuki Mala (formerly Chooky Dancers) performing “Singing In The Rain”Dancer from the Torres Strait
Electric Fields
Electric Fields
Among the artists, it was great to see Kaylene Whiskey win an award, and the acceptance speeches by the daughter of Nyaparu (William) Gardiner, and by Gutiŋarra Yunupiŋu (in sign language) were really wonderful.
Kaylene WHISKEY Yankunytjatjara language Indulkana, SA Seven Sistas 2018 water-based enamel on SA tourist attraction road sign 75 x 270 cmNyaparu (William) GARDINER (dec.) Nyangumarta/Warnman/Manjilyjarra languages South Hedland, WA Our Old People 2018 synthetic polymer paint, lead pencil and ink on paper 114 x 300 x 90 cmMalaluba GUMANA Yolŋu Matha language Nhulunbuy, NT Rainbows in the lilies 2018 natural pigments on hollow stringybark 293 x 80 x 80 cm (overall)Malaluba GUMANA Yolŋu Matha language Nhulunbuy, NT Rainbows in the lilies 2018 natural pigments on hollow stringybark 293 x 80 x 80 cm (overall)Owen YALANDJA Kuninjku language Barrihdjowkkeng Outstation, NT ‘Ngalkodjek yawkyawk’ 2019 natural pigments, charcoal, PVA fixative, stringybark (Eucalyptus tetradonta) 130 x 25 cm 100 x 20 cm
This was the first time I’ve ever seen David Campbell perform in cabaret before. The only other time I’ve seen him live was in the musical, “Only Heaven Knows” about 10 or so years ago at the Sydney Opera House. And so I was both excited and curious about going to the show at what I think is Sydney’s best cabaret venue, Bar Me.
I’ve always felt a bit of a connection to David Campbell, mostly due to his interesting and unusual family upbringing. I’ve also really liked the fact that he was willing to give most things a go, an issue to which he referred in the show declaring that, like Bobby Darrin, he wants to be known as an entertainer, not labelled in any limiting kind of way. And that’s what he did in the show, he entertained us. The 90 minute show just flew and I never had a moment where I was checking the time or looking around the room as he provided a totally captivating show.
David Campbell at Bar Me
Back in April, I saw Tim Draxl at the same venue and I suppose I can’t help but make comparisons between the two, especially as both were discovered by legendary Sydney cabaret producer, Les Solomon. Campbell is clearly a much better performer, far more in control of what he does, evident in the eclectic selection of material. Unlike Draxl, who stuck fairly closely to the standard show tune formula, Campbell was more willing to take a few more risks, including numbers by Johnny O’Keefe, for example and in Mr Bojangles, unafraid of the obvious comparisons with every other performer who has sung the song before. But because he was seemingly unafraid, he delivered a truly magnificent version of the song, easily the best I’ve ever seen performed live. Sometimes, however, I thought Campbell oversold songs a little too much, sometimes he was a little too physical. And although it’s not a bad thing too sweat on stage, sometimes I thought he sweated where he didn’t need to and perhaps he could pick up a thing or two from Draxl in underselling a song.
When I got back to the hostel tonight at about 7.30, I thought for a while I might have wasted the day. I spent the day at the media conference I’d planned to attend, and to be frank, I found it a little boring, and not really at the level of research and debate I’d hoped. But I stuck with it throughout the day, hoping I wasn’t misjudging the situation. In fact I was there until about 7.00pm.
I mean, there were some interesting bits. There was a nice Swedish bloke who spoke about the design and construction of Swedish university websites, arguing they’ve developed from the bottom up, and because there has been little interest from higher levels of the university, have lacked a clear long-term vision, with all of the associated problems.
A woman from Singapore spoke about how digitisation of the television newsroom helped overcome a uniquely local situation: the language hierarchy that put editing English and Chinese language programs ahead of other local languages.
Closeby in Hong Kong, a woman called Jasmine spoke about the overwhelmingly positive attitude of local journalists towards new technology. Even though it’s led to more instantaneous deadlines, there was a feeling she said, the technological improvements had freed them from many parts of their jobs, allowing to do better reporting. When I asked her about the role of Hong Kong journalists as a means of obtaining an insight into broader Chinese issues, she spoke with some optimism. “Officially”, she said, “all Hong Kong journalists need to be obtain permission to go into China, but unofficially most don’t bother. And small digital cameras have allowed them to do this much more easily”. When further prompted a colleague of hers reminded everyone it’s one country, two systems adding “capitalism and individualism is very much alive in Hong Kong”.
I also chatted briefly with a bloke who is a DJ at RixFM, one of the local music stations here. He presented a paper about the changing role of music radio. He spoke about the role of online music research as a means of building brand affinity, and of the capacity for radio station websites to offer listeners the capacity to listen to the station, but to have a more individual experience, ala lastfm. He also spoke about the new possibilities associated with mobile phones and gps to allow further mobile phone integration, allowing for better audience research.
There was a woman from Norway who spoke about a feature film made many years ago in Zimbabwe called “Flame” which is still doing the rounds of the film festival circuit. The film is about a female freedom fighter in the days towards independence, and I think I would really like to see the movie.
And memorably, there was a young woman from South Korea who spoke about her research examining the responses of university students to a number of gay-themed movies including Philadelphia and a Korean-film, “No Regrets”. With a degree of ethnocentrism and misogynism, I’d argue, her methodology was attacked because a couple of the Euro-queers didn’t like the results. “Why didn’t you use Brokeback Mountain”, one of them asked, without having any knowledge of the film “No Regrets” which also sounds like it might be a very lovely film.
Anyway, that was about the moment I decided this holiday was too important to spend in a lecture theatre listening to half-baked attempts at under-graduate or honours level (at best) critical debate. So I looked through the program, noticed there was nothing earth-shattering for the next few days, and decided to call it quits. I mean, the people attending have been fascinating people from all parts of the world, but that’s just not enough for me, I don’t think.
I came home, had a little lie down, and for a while was feeling like I had wasted an otherwise beautiful day.
But I picked myself up, dusted myself off, and started all over again, heading into Gamla Stan for a drink at Torget.
Clearly, my face has become a little better known to the barman as someone other than a one-day-in-Stockholm tourist, as he accepted and responded to my order in Swedish, not English. In fact, that’s starting to happen a lot more. While at the start, most people in shops were responding to my Swedish with English, the majority have now begun to respond in Swedish. Or maybe it’s because I’m not American, as I can tell you, the city continues to be full of people from the United States.
And also very nicely, a bloke sitting near me leaned over and said hello, which was nice.
He’s been in Sweden for about twelve months now, though is originally from South America. He also clearly has a strong interest in many of the things I do, including language, food, wine and travel. So we ended up sharing a few beers and chatting about many of these common interests.
Sure there were times when we failed to understand each other in English, but it was such a nice thing to happen, to find someone in Stockholm for a really good, lengthy chat.
He also gave me a few tips about the difference between written and spoken Swedish.
And then he asked me, “So what do you think of Sweden and Swedes”? What do you think of Sweden was easily answered – I absolutely love it – but I really had to think for a moment or two about what I think of Swedes.
At the conference yesterday, someone said she thought they were like “chilled out Germans”. I laughed. My response (with about thirty seconds of thought) to his question was “They’re a little bit shy, aren’t they?”, adding that I couldn’t possibly begin to understand nor comment on the nature of the Swedish character after just two weeks.
Anyway, it was a great night which helped recover what could have been a wasted day.
I don’t exactly know why I took a photograph of a cup of peanuts at the pub on Friday night. I mean, I’ve always been reminded of that statistic – though it’s probably an urban myth – that when tested, the average hotel bar peanut bowl contained traces of fourteen different urine samples. Yes, that’s right girls, it’s boys who go to the toilets who don’t wash their hands, and then immediately afterwards, grab a handful from the peanut bowl.
In the midst of the peanut picture, there are many other fun photographs of friends, Graeme and Andrew as we went out for a drink or seventeen on Friday night. Meeting up at about six o’clock after work, we chatted about life, the universe and Britney Spears over a couple of beers. Before we knew it, we were sitting in a takeaway on Oxford Street eating food that probably contained more salmonella than would be fit for human consumption, but which I have a natural resistance to, having consumed so much of it over the years. And then minutes later, we were disco dancing at Palms.
I don’t go dancing much anymore, although I used to really love going out on the town. “Come for a dance”, Andrew said. “No, I replied. I’m only dancing if Kylie comes on”, which I think Andrew regarded as a refusal for the entire night. I think he thought I was one of the social-phobic dancers who will only get on the dance floor having consumed a beer or seventeen. Minutes later, Kylie came on and I was on the dance floor faster you could say, “Better Than Danni Minogue”. It was a great Friday night and much fun was had by all.
And then last night I went to a dinner party, the first dinner party I’ve been to in quite some time where I was met some entirely new people.
“Do you know how to carve?”, one of the guys said to me as he was asked to take on “the man’s task”. “No idea”, I replied as it’s been ages since I’ve cooked a roast myself. It then led to one of those confused discussions with seemingly no end in sight, about whether you carve with or against the grain. After considering a range of options, including chopping up the very beautiful and tasty roast into “chunks”, the roast was finally, beautifully carved.
Going to a dinner party where I knew only one other person is something I haven’t done for quite some time. But when I received a call yesterday from a workmate inviting me to dinner, I decided to quickly address my usual social phobia and accepted the invitation. And I’m really pleased I did, because, although I was the odd one out in a group of long-term friends, I felt incredibly comfortable, and they were all very welcoming to “the new guy”. It’s great to be adventurous.
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But still man, did you really have to leave and take the good weather with you? :)
But still man, did you really have to leave and take the good weather with you? :)
Everyone here is complaining about how cold it is :)