I already knew from my first visit that my hotel, the Terminus, was directly across the street from the station. I didn't discover until I walked over to it, however, that it was located just above a subway station. But, hey, so was half of downtown Stockholm. Fortunately, the Swedes know how to build better subways than the French!
The Hotel didn't look quite as nice as the one in Copenhagen, but it wasn't as expensive either. The lobby was what can best be described as functional, but the breakfast room and my room were fine, and for the first time I had a double bed in one piece. I only had three nights and two full days to see Stockholm. I was determined not to waste any of it. I had already missed out on my one of my goals, a visit to SIPRI, the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute. They had closed by the time I got to Stockholm.
I asked the desk clerk, a nice young lady, to see if she could get me any tickets to the weekend's concerts. The opera was sold out, but she did get me seats for the next days matinee of the Stockholm Philharmonic and a Sunday afternoon recitcal by Vladimir Ashkenazy, one of the world's foremost pianists. With that I turned my attention to planning how to spend my Saturday and Sunday, but first, hunger was a concern. I hadn't eaten since breakfast. So I headed down the street, past the MacDonald's. I stopped in the Royal Viking to inquire if they served a real, authentic smorgasbord. The lady at the desk said no, but she thought the Grand Hotel did. I filed that way as info to be used, and kept moving. Finally, a few blocks down I saw a Burger King. Ah, what the hell, I thought. So in I went. It wasn't quite as good as the one in Copenhagen, but it wasn't quite as expensive either. I took a brief walk around the area, just to orient myself, and went back to the Hotel and to bed.
Saturday would turn out to be a long and busy day. I was on the go for almost 14 straight hours. I started off with a walk over to the island where the Royal Palace was. It was too early for anything to be going on, so I got to enjoy the island in peace. Also, because it was a Saturday there was little traffic. I took a look at the Swedish Parliament building. Interesting. Then I headed for the Palace. I was upon it before I realized it. It wasn't until a guard yelled at me for coming too close to him (they have a "ring of death" around their guard shacks), that I realized the huge building alongside me was the Palace. I kept walking, taking pictures here and there, until I eventually ended up at the entrance to the Royal Livery, another collection of carriages and such. It was the first museum of the day to open. It was interesting. From there I went to see the Royal Jewels. Not a big deal. I've seen better at garden parties in La Jolla. As I left that Museum I heard a trumpet call in the distance. For some reason I decided to head for it. I came around the corner and ran smack into a wall of people who had gathered for the daily, noontime (and free) changing of the guard ceremony. I stayed, watched, took pictures, and enjoyed the pagentry and music. I wish I had had my tape recorder with me. I was told that a different unit provides the Palace guard each day. Perhaps, or perhaps it is the same 32 guys with one hell of a wardrobe! For what it's worth, I say paint it yellow!
Following that I wandered through the Old Town (Gamla Stan), checked out Stockholm's City Hall; which looked like something lifted right out of the Pizza San Marco but was closed so I couldn't get inside; and headed back for the Hotel to get ready for my afternoon concert. The Konserthuset was a short distance from the Hotel and the walk through a modern area of the city filled with high-rise apartment buildings grafted on top of shopping arcades was different. I was in good time for the concert and the hall was almost completely full by concert time. I was sitting on the main floor to one side in the mid-sized hall. It was a good spot to hear and see what was going on. Most of the people around me were old, old being sixty-plus. What younger people there were were up behind the orchestra in the upper balcony. Neither of the people sitting next to me spoke any English, not uncommon among the older Swedes, but in the row in front of me was a young, thirtyish fellow who volunteered that he did. He was obviously suffering from a cold. It didn't dawn on me at first that he wasn't Swedish. The concert opened with a mercifully short work by a contemporary Swedish composer. I confirmed my suspicion that contemporary music by Swedish composers doesn't sound any better performed by Swedish musicians in Sweden! That was followed by a performance of the Sibelius violin concerto performed by a child prodigy going on thirty-something from Greece named Leonidas Kavakos. He was playing a Strad, or so the program said. I wondered where he had got it? It was a good, not great, performance. After the intermission, we were treated to a performance of a suite by Rachmaninoff. After the concert I asked the fellow sitting in front of me what he thought of the performance. We chatted a bit and I discovered that he was a German and a real diplomat to boot! Since it was getting toward dinner time I asked if he had any plans. He said no, so I suggested he join me for the smorgasboard at The Grand. He agreed, and we arranged to meet at the hotel at 1900. Well, we were in there from 1900 until 2300, eating and drinking our way through a massive buffet of 7 courses of 7 dishes each, and drinking a wide variety of beers and wines from Germany, California and France. The conversation wasn't too bad, either. I was pleased because I had finally met a German I actually liked. After all these years it was nice to know it was possible. We swapped stories and I think he was amazed at a few things I knew and told him. But it worked both ways. We finally walked back to our respective hotels and I know I had a very good night's sleep.
Sunday would be my last day in Stockholm. I visited the Klara K:a, a major church right behind my hotel; and then took a bus out to Djurgarden (a royal park) to visit some of the museums out there. I got to the Skansen outdoor Museum as it opened. It was a huge collection of old buildings and such gathered from all over Sweden. It was also very cold and deserted at that hour. From there I walked out to the other end of the island to visit the Waldensee, a major collection of French impressionst paintings that once belonged to a real Swedish prince. Alas, it was closed. However, I did get to see the Italian embassy, much better looking than the one in Copenhagen. From there I walked back to the Vasa Museum, a real delight, and went through it in detail. The Vasa is an old Swedish warship that sank, remained underwater for years, and then was raised, restored and placed in a dedicated Museum built around the giant hull. From there it was a short walk over to the Nordic Museum; which was doing an exhibit on automobiles. This was packed, but I wasn't interested in 1940 Volvos and 1958 Chevy Bel Airs, so it was back to town and my afternoon recital.
I had paid twice as much for my recital ticket and the seat was inferior to the concert the day before. Perhaps that had something to do with the frantic activity inside the lobby when I arrived back at the Konsethuset. It didn't take long to figure out what was going on. Ashkenazy had cancelled due to an injury. In his place the hall was offering a recital with yesterday's solo violinist, Leonidas Kavakos, and a piano accompanist, Peter Nagy, playing a Schubert rondeau, some Kreisler bits, and another Schubert fantasy. If the concert was actually sold out, as it appeared, half the crowd took their refunds and bailed. By the time Kavakos appeared on stage, the auditorium appeared to be half-empty. I had nothing better to do, so I hung around to see how the Greek played as a recitalist. Given the conditions, he did very well. He actually appeared more relaxed than the day before. He played well and his two encores, another Kreisler and a Paganini caprice were first-rate. Once again, the concert ended exactly two hours after it began. You could set a watch by their clock. Still, I walked out of the hall with the same impression I had the day before. He lacked fire in his belly for the music he played.
There was plenty of daylight left, so I did the natural thing. I went subway, or u-bahn, riding. I wanted to see if the Stockholm subway was as good and the stations the works of art I had been told. I visited seven stations along the most popular line. To be honest, I wasn't that impressed, although I could see where they would make great wartime bomb shelters and had obviously been designed with that roll in mind. I remember reading somewhere, years ago, that there was a designated bomb shelter within five minutes distance of every person in Stockholm. I wonder if it is still true?
I switched trains and went over to the Gamla Stan for a last walk about through the Old City. By now it was time for dinner, so I found a small seafood place with a name I couldn't pronounce. It smelled good, the menu looked OK, and there were only a few people inside. I had a delicious fish soup or stew, some reindeer medallions which were both tasty and tender, some lingonberry sauce, and the ever present cauliflower and scalloped potatoes. For desert I had a slice of blueberry pie. The housewine was a typically German, mostly sweet, white. As I was finishing up the place was invaded by a octet of Americans, obviously celebrating something. I fled as their laugher began to escape out of the restaurant and down the narrow street.
It was a cool, clear evening as I walked back to the Hotel. Although it was still around 0 degrees, it seemed warmer, even pleasant, on my last evening in Stockholm. Perhaps I was adjusting to the change in climate. I packed my stuff and prepared for an early morning.
I was awake at 0500, although there was no reason to get up that early. I had breakfast, went across the street and fetched a luggage cart from the station, loaded it up with my stuff, cleared my account with the Hotel, and went over to the station where I marched through the train station, up the hisse, across the bus station, up another hisse, and to the airport bus pick-up point. In minutes I was on the way. The route was different going, as I recalled, than when we had come into the city. I know the traffic was much heavier. It almost reminded me of Los Angeles, but it was a Monday morning rush hour as well. It didn't take long to arrive at the airport.
Back to WDC VII
To the Conclusion
|
Larry Peery (peery@ix.netcom.com) |
If you wish to e-mail feedback on this article to the author,
click on the letter above. If that does not work, feel free to use the
"Dear DP..." mail interface.