OK… it’s been a busy week. I’m currently sat in a fantastic internet cafe called ‘MBar’ in Helsinki, updating and browsing and all sorts of exciting things.
We’re just waiting on a train to St. Petersburg, leaving in 2 hours. Exciting. I’ll keep you posted on that.
So, anyway, here’s the story so far…
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Waking at 4am, slightly hung-over, we depart for London St. Pancreas. I thought we were OK for time, but it turns out that we only just made it before the ‘arrive 30 minutes before departure’ clause (of which we had no prior knowledge) kicked in. We arrived by bus, two journeys at £2 a pop. Passports at the ready (for such are the necessities of these paranoid times) and tickets in hand we herded ourselves through the stainless steel barriers and x-ray machines beneath the grand spiderous structure of the station, into the departure lounge. No sooner through, and the journey towards unknown experience begins, filtering through yet more barriers onto the station platform. Bidding farewell to London, through whose streets we had sauntered the night before, exploring Canary Wharf (close to where our kind hosts lived), the embankments, the Eye and a bar near to the National Theatre, we boarded; and just gone 6am our Eurostar pulled itself from the platform and started the two hour leg to Brussels.
BRUSSELS, Belgium – Monday 9th November:
Our train arrived around 9am local time. Feeling hungry, and quite tired (I’d caught only 2 hours sleep the night before, and Dave even less so, since we had spent a fair while finalising what we were to take in our bags) we set out to explore the most politically contentious city in Europe, home to a working population of foreign nationals, not employed as cleaners or bus drivers, but filling posts as bureaucrats, diplomats, officials, Right Honourables and politicos. Before doing that, however, we stored our heavy bags in the station’s electronic lockers for 4€ (roughly around £4, since the Euro is near equal to the Pound, and so is now about as pricey as the UK, or more so, even). Very useful, very convenient. And in terms of price, Brussels is equivalent to the UK for most things.
We were taken to walking distance of the sights by the Brussels underground, a fast and quite clean network. Getting off fairly at random, we took a stroll and visited a huge arch in the Parc du Cinquantenaire which strongly resembles the Brandenburg gate, before doubling back on ourselves and walking past the ‘Palace of the Nation’ and through the Parc de Bruxelles Warandepark, ending up facing the Palais de Bruxelles. All quite pretty and ornate, but also somewhat bland, but then again Belgium, sadly, is bland. It exists as a neutered, neutral common ground, a meeting point between nations that for the most part traditionally were in conflict, and therefore must lose all character to be the blank political canvass of the European continent. Or at least that’s what I reckon, but maybe I didn’t give it enough time. If you’re a European politics geek, however, you’ll love it. I’m not. I like other things.
The maddeningly poor signage, the dullness of the sky, the sparse and unhelpful nature of the tourist maps and guides convince me of my belief that Brussels is, on the whole, a city akin to purgatory: aseptic, uninspiring, and awash with the faded pomposity of an ex-colonial power. Around its streets young career politicians and bureaucrats scuttle to and fro, and the heavy imposition of the grey slate clouds provide a fitting seal above the whole affair. The general impression was a feeling of limbo.
[Dave suggests it’s a gigantic meeting room! Haha.]
But in all fairness, I did have a fantastic sandwich there. Dave considers sandwiches one of his favourite types of food (their creation is both an art and a science, he says), and I’d have to agree. They’re just so versatile, and they’re stunningly tasty when they’re built with care, and some attention to flavour diversity, etc. Anyway, after walking some way we stopped at a small café, and for 6 euros we had a few medium-rare slivers of roast beef with mayo, salad leaves, Parmesan and tomato slices within a warmed square-roll of ciabatta, and a cup of Lipton’s Yellow Label Tea. Why you can’t get ‘proper’ tea abroad still baffles me, but it was acceptable all the same, and the sumptuousness of the sandwich, the cool succulence of the beef and its fitting filling accompaniment pushed that sort of complaint out of my mind. Mmmm… sandwiches.
So anyway, we returned to the station to claim our bags from the luggage lockers and to (thankfully) board the train to Cologne (or Köln in German).
COLOGNE, Germany – Still Monday…
I sort of get the impression that, in general, the Germans don’t like the English. Or maybe they just didn’t like us, our faces, or our clothes. Either way, unless I was being paranoid, I can’t say that the people of Cologne were especially friendly. It’s not that they were rude, just cold, perhaps. Or perhaps I’m mistaking forthright efficiency for curtness. Dunno. Anyway, we arrived in the late afternoon and stored away our bags in the station lockers. Then, we headed out towards the old town.
The old centre is very near to the station, which was extremely useful (how thoughtful of the Germans) considering we were only there for 5 hours. Obviously the first major sight is the Cathedral, which is frankly stunning and very gothic. The vertical columns and the huge vaulted roof gives the place the impression of a gigantic leering cliff face, bearing down on you. It’s imposing, and it makes you feel very small (which it was, I assume, what it was meant to do).
After leaving the Cathedral and having a quick look (there’s not much left to see) at the ancient 2000 year old Roman gate to the city, in the square facing the Cathedral, we popped into one of their locals for a pint and some food. The local pubs in Cologne are known as ‘brewpubs’ (or at least according to this fellow who seems to know a lot about them), and are typically under a brand (I think it’s a brand) called Kölsch, which seems to be the specific beer type brewed in Cologne. For more details on Kölsch and Cologne brewing I’d recommend a visit to the above web page.
Pubs in Cologne also seem to be split into varying categories of alcohol, so, for example, we saw a place that specifically sold wine, and another place that appeared to specialise in the Früh (fruit) beer, that has recently proven itself very popular in the UK market.
We dined in what seemed very probably to be a beer hall, where blue-jacketed waiters known as Köbes serve the beer. Cologne was heavily bombed in the war, and apparently there aren’t many of these places left. Rarity increases value, especially touristic value, so the chance to dine in one was decent. I had a Currywürst with fries (literally, a curried sausage) and Dave had a mashed spinach, fried potatoes with bacon and fried eggs dish that seemed to be a local delicacy, if not really very delicate, which he greatly enjoyed. My Currywürst was a tad dull… but the chips were nice. In many respects Dave’s meal looked better. But moving on…
When one thinks of beer halls, you think of tankards of ale or beer served by oompah band men in lederhosen and curvaceous Fräuleins with pigtails. If you come to Cologne expecting this, be prepared to be disappointed. Instead, there’s a handful of weird idiosyncrasies here concerning beer. Firstly, it seems that, in contrast to English pubs, beer is only ever served and sold in 0,2 litre (or 200ml) quantities. This was explained to us when we asked for half a litre of the local brew, with a slightly disapproving tone, by our stony-faced waitress. Why this is the case appears to be founded on reasons of tradition, as opposed to social engineering ambitions (e.g. stopping people getting wasted in parks), or reasons hinging on how much we’d had to drink (honest injun’).
A second idiosyncrasy seems to be that these glasses are handed out to you as and when it appears you’ve neared the end of your current drink, by waiters and waitresses carrying hand-held cylindrical baskets with 8 slots to carry them in. These glasses are filled from barrels of Kölsch winched up from the cellars. It’s a nice beer, and alongside this, in some places, they serve sippable Kölsch spirits (which I thought tasted a tad rough). Be warned though, things can get pricey if you fail to recognise that you are basically drinking half-pints, and you don’t stop the waiter (or waitress) nonchalantly passing you more!
We left and returned to the station: pissed. Steaming. I’d not been planning on getting drunk, but ‘what the fuck, why not?’ was the attitude of the hour. I think we saw the 0,2 litre glass restriction as a bit of a challenge, and so set out to prove to ourselves to the Germans. So, we sat in a bar watching the Berlin Wall falling, again and again, on a German news channel (it being, coincidentally, the 20th anniversary that very day of the event) sipping beer.
Then, on to the platform. Following a chat with a Finn on her way to Copenhagen, we madly panicked for a couple of minutes once the sleeper train pulled into the station. It was apparently segmented into separate trains travelling to Prague, Warsaw, Amsterdam, Moscow and Copenhagen respectively, and we had to find ours. Running to the end of the platform (of course, nothing is simple) we rushed into our cabin to find four tired, open faces inquiring at us. One welsh environmentalist guy, two Dutch women (a mother and daughter), and a Finnish woman. They proved good company, even though we were both hammered and now in possession of a bottle of Jim Beam whiskey. We didn’t crack it open (poor show), but collapsed onto our beds (three pull-out beds to each wall stacked one above the other). The only down side was that I had to shell out three euros for a bottle of water, as you could get no other fresh water on the train. The cheek. But you live and learn, anyway, and if I travel by sleeper train again I shan’t forget to bring bottled water with me! Anyway, it was a good nights sleep had, and 12 hours later we pulled into Copenhagen.
COPENHAGEN, Denmark – Tuesday 10th November:
Hmmm… can’t say much about the place as we only stayed there for an hour before catching the X2000 fast-train to Stockholm. What I can say is that a) the girls are nice, and b) the prices for food and stuff were of similar extortionate ilk to those found in any ‘good’ WH Smiths at your regular UK city train station.
STOCKHOLM, Sweden – Still Tuesday…
Tuesday evening we rolled into Stockholm following a comfortable journey across the vast, pine-coated Swedish landscape on our fantastic speedy train. Snow fell at one point, the first snow of the journey, the first I’ve seen in a fair while. It was five hours from Copenhagen to Stockholm, or thereabouts, and as a bonus (or rather, a necessity) we crossed a magnificent feat of engineering, a bridge built over the historic straight that leads to the Baltic Sea, connecting Denmark to Sweden.
We spent two nights in Stockholm, both at the excellent CityBackpacker hostel (booked through the efficient and helpful HostelBookers.com) on Vasagatan in the Norrmalm district (which appears to be the modern city centre). Stockholm is everything you would expect from a Nordic city: clean, efficient, and full of young, attractive women. Literally drop-dead stunningly gorgeous young women. But enough on my leching (seriously, you should see them…).
Anyway, CityBackpacker was great for a number of reasons. Firstly, everyone there seemed extremely friendly, especially the staff, who were all very willing to help with questions and concerns, or advice on decent night venues or attractions in town. Secondly, the cost of the place was very cheap for Sweden, 20 euros a night for a berth in a room with 12 other people. This might sound dodgy, an invasion of privacy perhaps, but in reality it’s like having a sleep-over with a load of your mate’s friends whom you don’t really know but merely have to introduce yourself to for a conversation to spark up… if you know what I mean. The nice ambient temperature, comfortable beds and the well maintained toilets, equipped kitchens, warm powerful showers, lounging areas (they even have a sauna!) and lively atmosphere make the hostel a really cosy place to stay.
Speaking of atmosphere… on our second night we had a really fun, funny time at the hostel taking part in their much trumpeted Swedish Meatball Experience. This was quality, and not just for the stupid amount of ball jokes that were thrown around the room. It was a genuinely fantastic crowd of people, a mix of Australians, Belgians, Americans, English, Finnish and our Swedish coach Lena, all just bantering, basically. It really beggars belief how far the ball-joke can be pushed (or should that be ‘touched upon’?), especially in a meatball experience, before it starts getting tired. Plus, the meal also offered a fantastic chance to try mixing Jim Bean with their festive soft drink Julmust (which tastes somewhat like root beer) AND I got final definitive proof that Helan går is a bona fide Swedish drinking song, which we sung around the table before our meal. All in all, a great evening.
FYI… What the Swedish meatball dish should include:
- Loganberry relish… basically loganberries mixed with a lot of sugar in a bowl
- Boiled potatoes
- Meatballs – (Made with Reindeer mince(!), mince beef, breadcrumbs and milk (mixed), fried onions, and savoury herbs)
- Sliced Gherkins
- Special Knorr-brand sauce (not sure what this was…)
Altogether a very tasty dish. Loganberry relish is a bit like cranberry sauce, so it tastes good with savoury food, although it sounds odd, and the meatballs were pretty good considering the amateur nature of the ‘chefs’.
I’d be hard pressed not to recommend Stockholm to a prospective traveller or day/weekend-tripper. We unfortunately lacked the cash to really take advantage of the place… and to be honest it is very bloody expensive! But, that said, in many ways you don’t have to spend much to enjoy yourself. We took a pair of the hostel’s hire bicycles out on the first day, for example, and biked around Gamla Stan, the ‘old town’ and one of the many islands that make up the Swedish capital, upon which it is built. Anyway, unfortunately lacking cash we had to return the bikes quickly because the hostel allow you to use the bikes free for the first two hours, before you have to pay. This was a shame, because biking Stockholm is an excellent way to get around, as the bike-path network is extremely well integrated into the road network, and the pedestrians and vehicles seem bike-friendly.
After biking, we spent the evening taking part in the above mentioned meatball experience. We’d had a fair amount to drink by the end of it, and we then set off to the Nordic Sea Hotel for the Absolut IceBar experience, which we had booked online just a few hours earlier for 170 SEK (around £15.50) per person. This was awesome, and well worth the expense. Wrapped in special coats, we stepped inside. The walls and bar were both made out of ice. The tables were ice. Even the glasses were made of ice. Very special. We both received a free Absolut Vodka cocktail served in an ice glass, and stood in rapt wonder trying to get our heads around the place. Truly worth a visit.
After the IceBar we were stuck for things to do, so we asked at the hotel for some inspiration as to bars and events that were worthy of a visit. We struck gold with this one. We were recommended to go to the Glenn Miller Café on Brunnsgatan. This was an incredible experience. Stepping in from the Swedish cold, we were immediately confronted with a full-on Swedish jazz band called, I later discovered, H3FK, who were fronted by an incredible saxophonist, Fredrik Ljungkvist, and made up of Salem al Fakir, Mats Karlsson, Filip Augustson, Fredrik Rundqvist and Ola Bothzén nearly all famous faces in Sweden, apparently. We were told we were lucky to see them playing by the locals, and they frankly blew me away. It was lively as hell, and the passion was on show, obvious for all to see. We drank some excellent (expensive) ale, and chatted and made friends with some friendly art-scene Swedes. I even managed to exercise my drunken philosophical pretensions and discuss French and Danish existentialism with them.
The prior night had ended on a high note, and so the next day we decided to chill out and head in to Gamla Stan again by foot. The architecture in Gamla Stan is stunning, speaking of the sea and suffused with Nordic and Germanic influence, grand and domineering. Little cobbled streets filled with (expensive) boutique stores, art shops, cafes and fantastic little pubs make it a really cool place to visit. You can’t bike through these streets, so to look around the historic old town you need to be on foot (it’s easier). Unfortunately we didn’t get to see inside the Royal Treasury (too expensive, 10 euros for entry… which I presume helps keep their coffers full), but we saw the outside of it, and the palace, and the parliament. We also managed to cough up for a beer and a dram of whiskey (very rare but reasonably priced, according to Dave) in a fantastic little pub at the end of the main street.
So, aside from the cost, which is, have no doubt, steep, Stockholm is a grand, inspiring, refreshing city. The cool air matches the clean-line living, Ikea-designed lifestyle exuded from the many glass-plated shopfronts of the swish, smooth furniture and clothes stores on its litter-free streets. It seems like a Nordic utopia, too good to be true.
… In some ways it is, perhaps. We ended up chatting to an art dealer on Gamla Stan about the Swedish monarchy, the British monarchy, politics, art, restrictions within society, and the relative contrasts between Sweden and the UK. He wasn’t full of superlatives about Sweden, rather he was of the opinion that, first of all, the existence of quite a decadent monarchy in Sweden is unfair, and doesn’t benefit their economy. He also felt that Swedish society is quite restrictive, and raved about the UK. Sweden does seem a tad restrictive, perhaps. Alcohol sales are restricted by high tax, and beers are expensive. Spirits can only be bought from government-run monopoly stores. And perhaps the people are quite reserved, keeping themselves to themselves. But, all together, you wonder whether it’s not so bad… is it worthwhile trying to eliminate drunk and disorderly behaviour, to benefit the wider aims of society? It’s a tough one. People love their freedom. And restrictive attitudes run the other way, as well. I’ve noticed much more how lax the Swedes’ attitudes are to security, compared to the British. People aren’t paranoid, aren’t scared, and so, for example, passport checks are few and far between (we’ve hardly had ours checked since we left the UK, apart from a surreal incident on our train to Cologne where a German plain clothes policeman picked specifically me and Dave out for a passport check, from a carriage of at least 70 people). This, I think goes beyond geopolitical reasons (i.e. Sweden’s lack of controversial history in the middle east)… the attitude is far less paranoid and jumpy. There just seems to be more common sense efficiency in their social policy design, from what I can gather.
So, we left on Thursday night for the ferry to Helsinki. Again, the friendliness and generosity of people took us aback… we got onto a bus, but couldn’t work out how to pay, and had no real idea where to get off for the SiljaLine ferry port. The bus driver waved us on without taking any money, and when we got to the stop he actually got out of his cab and walked to the back of the bus to tell us, very cordially, that this was our stop. Could you imagine a bus driver treating foreigners that way in England? Probably quite unlikely.
A fitting end to Stockholm.
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More soon…