IT'S BEEN A WHILE SINCE I WENT WANDERING.
STOCKHOLM 7 WALKS IN 7 DAYS.
PHOTOS.
Lines from my notebook, ready to be drawn together, to make a map:
some extracts:
WALK 1
leaving my hostel i interrogate this historical island, typically cobbled and hilly. i walk slowly due to a sprained ankle - and so adopt the flaneur easily. a boat is floating in a deep blue sky. it is quiet, i noticed this at the train station, stockholm is quiet and still, maybe it is the watery air. the stretches of murky grey churning under the sweeping bridges, motorways over water. The old town in an unbroken egg sgell, a tiny haven of what the world was, complete with currency converter and sweden jumpers, teamed with beautiful glass cuts hanging from trees. the bells ring out in canon. after the numerical bells comes a lullaby, a dinky ding dong from the cheery church. i walk straight across the island to find the edge very sharp, standing at the edge of the sea, the difference is immense. behind me warm lit streets full of bubbles in beer and wicker chairs. in front of me hills of nordic buildings wrapped around with train tracks and wide roads, the modern metropolis slaps the city down, but also makes it exciting opposed to slow paced nostalgia.
STOCKHOLM
cranes swing gracefully like long necked dinosaurs across a blazing hot sky line.
they surround a red brick archaic building with point green tops turned green.
a constant blur of blue streaks over the bridges.
the city is moving, buses, trains, water, wind.
the stagnant islands pinned down in beautiful architecture.
i am baking in a lime green deck chair counting the planes that fly over head.
WALK 3
Mesmerized by the beacon of the national museum i sit by the water and wave at a fat man driving his fat boat. the light is fading so a gleam of warm red trickles in. crossing over tumbling kayaks and moody fisherman i reach a square. the street lights come on at 8.30pm and the exterior lights of a nearby theatre turn on at 9.45pm. greenhouse cafes with waitresses with curls and stars on their backs. men play oversized games of chess. across the water breeze chris Isaac's 'wicked game' reaches me, i imagine grabbing a stranger passionately and singing it to them in an over dramatic manner. i turn back and retrace my steps. i think about being wide eyed and over polite, accentuating my britishness as a defense mechanism. extra alert and constantly observing particular suspicious of unfamiliar territory. but i too can drink a whole bowl of fantastic hot chocolate and feel deliciously sick, wiping the sticky cream from my chin. a tourist is a strange animal, a nuisance, but finds a nook that they like, and as if a lovers shoulder, says' - this bit of you, this bit is perfect.
WALK 5
in the north along a straight road 1950's america invades. a vintage car convention floods the road, greased hair and leather jackets, girls with fuscia curls and tattoo's on their shoulders. they lean out of the windows and throw beer cans on the cycle path. stockholm ticks, standing at the roundabout i arrive a clock shop, all tick tocks and irregular beats. in the evening the water is dark, i ask myself if today i will jump in, is it today? the day when i collapse into drift wood. Each year i feel my emotions become more erratic, it concerns me. this ticking city is getting to me, i feel dizzy but its just the boat thats swaying. a party boat lets out muffled disco beats, i imagine the sweaty drunken happiness, a disgusting conga line, all bending knees and crotches under bottoms, flailing arms and spilt bacardi.
WALK 7
Teasing the joggers by the lake.
I sit with beer and cake, feet up on a wooden chair.
1 comment:
This writing is very good and very more-ish. X
Post a Comment