420 metres of Stockholm

Stockholm is truly one of Europe’s greatest cities. Its clean air, symbiotic nature with the water and fantastic architecture make it the ideal place to take a stroll, go shopping or take a sightseeing tour on one of the many boats that ply their trade on the waterways that run through the heart of the city. I’ve spent many hours getting lost in the old town, where new discoveries wait around every turn, spent afternoons watching the boats go through the city lock and had some great evenings out in some bars that are at the forefront of design and fashion. There are however just 420 metres that typify this city for me and make me keep coming back time and time again. Take a line from Östermalms Saluhall, walk by Ciao Ciao pizza restaurant and then end up in the Tudor Arms – 420 metres of heaven.
Östermalms Saluhall is an indoor market as it should be. Bustling, clean and with fresh produce to tickle the taste buds and fondle the stomach. From seafood to meat, cheese to vegetables it has it all. It is not just the preserve of the rich (although they do seem to congregate here), but any serious foodie can spend hours in there just walking around and becoming inspired. Tasting, squeezing, sniffing and talking shop with one of the hundreds of stall holders that are only too willing to let you sample their produce. If you are ever at a loss to that eternal question “what are we going to have for dinner tonight?” then simply stroll round the market and let yourself be inspired. One of the things I miss about living in England is that Sweden doesn’t really have local butchers and fishmongers where you can go in and simply ask “what do you recommend today?” but Östermalms Saluhall feels like a tiny slice of provincial England, with its cheery market folk and foodie culture.
190 metres eastwards from Östermalms Saluhall you have one of Sweden’s best and longest established pizza restaurants Ciao Ciao Grande. It looks ball breakingly expensive, with the pristine white table clothes and serving staff looking like they have just come from an Armani fashion shoot, but it isn’t. The food is out of this world, with real world prices. Many a deal, first date, marriage proposal and divorce has taken place at these tables; if you ever want to really impress someone in Stockholm – take them here.
It is only 230 metres to go for the next stop, but in between you have some bizarre shops, galleries and hotels to walk by. You know the kind of shop with windows where there is only one item for sale and you can’t imagine how they afford to pay the rent. It is all very arty-farty, but in some strange way, wherever you come from, you feel at home here.
Now every ex-pat has an over-romantic view of their country of birth, but The Tudor Arms is a British pub as it should be. Open fireplace, old wooden bar, Pete the landlord serving the drinks and brasses on the walls. It is not just a pub it is an employment office, help centre, doctors, pharmacy, meeting place, citizens advice bureau and old folks home rolled in to one. English is the first language spoken and Swedish a very poorly spoken second, the carpets have that hint of stickyness through years of beer spills and the clientele are, shall we say unique. There are builders, comedy drunks, ex-pats, Barbour-wearing alcoholic pensioners, tourists, Swedes that think they are Brits and there is even the slightly oversexed, over flirtatious Swedish blonde – don’t get excited, she’s at least 60. Oliver Reed once said that the reason he drinks was because of the people you can meet in pubs and this statement is typified by The Tudor Arms. After an afternoon in here you start fantasizing about Winston Churchill and thinking of cashing in your pension and heading back over The North Sea back to “blighty”. In The Tudor Arms hours seem to fly away, you become more melancholy and realise the absolute pointlessness of running for that underground train, when there is another one only minutes behind. Mobiles are discouraged, nobody boots up a laptop and a blackberry is something you have in a pie.
So forget about the walking tour that takes hours, visiting the palace or the countless museums. You will get a better taste of Stockholm in these 420 metres than you would during a whole day of sightseeing buses.

It is election time here in Sweden. I do love elections, don't you? In fact I'm having one right now.

You can tell it is election time here in Sweden, not just because of the thousands of cheesy election posters that are springing up, but the nightly news is now dominated by the prospective parties promising perk after perk to the electorate. I swear I went to bed last week with the promise of a free electric car by one party, only to make up in the morning with it being trumped by a new Volvo and by dinner time it was a Ferrari. Surely, if all these new policies of tax reduction and better care for one group or another were possible, they would have implemented them already?
The main problem is that there is nothing to differentiate the parties. Coming from a land where one party is clearly left or right, Sweden is a muddled political jungle where no one is the alpha male (although I do have my suspicions about Maud Olofsson). To help point the hapless voter in the right direction, many of the newspapers and television internet sites have questionnaires that you can complete to give you an answer on what party you support. Is it just me or does this not smack of communist politics, where personal choice is taken out of the equation and big brother tells you where to put your valued cross? Whatever next? Before you know it the government won’t trust their citizens to buy alcohol in a responsible matter from supermarkets – oh bugger they don’t.
Having taken three of these questionnaires and been given three different answers, you are forced (joy of joys) to look at the personalities or lack of, the leaders of the parties. No Swedish hack dare put their head in the sniper’s firing line to do this, but the bar room / over the fence gossip mongers are certainly having a field day. We have Fredders Reinfeldt who has a head shaped like a Peter Nicholas and has never travelled further north in Sweden than Arlanda airport, Moaner Sahlin who has a huge turkey throat, Moad Olofsson who is more like my mother than I care to think about and the green party who by now are so drunk on the prospect of power they have overdosed on herbal tea and lost all sense of reality.
Secretly 99% of Swedes can’t stand our current PM Reinfeldt, not because he is not doing a good job, it is because of his finance minister, Anders Borg. If you are unfamiliar with Swedish life or have a pre-conceived view of an accountant in a suit, I beg you to sit down before you read the next sentence. (Deep breath) Readers, The Finance Minister of The Kingdom of Sweden has a greasy pony tail and an earring. I don’t want anyone who looks like this managing my adopted homeland’s coffers, what do the other countries finance ministers think of this rocker? You can only imagine the sniggers over lunch at the summits when the German and the Brits get together.
There is only really one alterative and that is Moaner’s reds. Unlike any other slippery politician, Moaner tells it like it is – vote for me and you will be poor. They will slap half a Kroner on petrol, take away tax relief for home improvement services and generally make everyone salute the flag at mid-day every Monday morning. Come on and play the game gobble-gobble neck, give me a reason to vote for you! The greens have some good ideas but only if your house is next to a bus stop or train station and that you are not the type of person that shuttles children to football matches or forgets to buy milk during the weekly shop. The other parties have so little support (under 10%) that you feel like a vote for them would be like a drop of Aquavit in The Baltic.
There is one person I and millions of my fellow Swede’s would vote for, but unfortuneatly he’s not standing. Someone who has done more for Sweden’s reputation abroad, who has already won the hearts and minds of the population and who understands the people. No not Sven-Göran Eriksson, but our current King Karl Gustav. He likes a tipple, is not afraid to be open, to show emotions or to make mistakes. Forget the other nation’s chinless wonders that people have never met, Charlie-boy must have met the population of Sweden several times over – everyone has a “King” story. Even I who lives in the back of beyond have been shopping with him and shared a flight with him. Other people I know have been on the same ski lift, cooked for him or worked for him. Next week I’ll tell you my favourite “King” story. Hasn’t the reds, greens, pinks and blues a lot to learn from someone that is truly blue-blooded?

© William Simons

The 25th of August – It is not a matter of life and death, it is more important than that.

The most important day in the year for the majority of Swedes is the 25th of August. This day sees a mysterious rise in job absences through sickness or holiday, children are suddenly dropped off at school earlier and picked up later. Nobody expects a telephone or email to be answered on this day, if your plumbing starts leaking or your car won’t start; not a sole will do anything about it.
Why? It might be Claudia Schiffer’s, Billy-Ray Cyrus’, Sean Connery’s and Ivan The Terrible’s birthday. It might also be the day that Matthew Webb was the first person to swim the English Channel and that Elton John first performed in The United States; all these things are true of this seemingly inconsequential day in the middle of August. However there is one more mark in the diary that needs to be entered, one more reason not to go to work – and that is that the 25th of August sees the opening day of the small game hunting season in Sweden.
This is the day that thousands of dog lovers, outdoor enthusiasts and hunters have been looking forward to, having sleepless nights over and clearing their schedules for since the first day of March the previous year. This is the day when after a long summer spent on beaches dreaming about this singularly most important day, men and women can finally get out into the forests, lakes and hills of Sweden and start hunting for quarries such as grouse, hares, capercaillie and ducks.
These types of hunting differ from your usual vision of hunting in that they are a sport for the people, for Joe The Plumber (who of course has his phone turned off) and for the thousands of people that love the outdoors, enjoy their friend’s company and take pleasure from seeing their dog do something that they have trained all spring and summer for. My favorite tipple from the bar of hunting, is grouse hunting with pointing dogs – forget your stereotypical vision of some toffs going out, dressed to the nines in tweed. This is a sport where two friends can get some fresh air, talk rubbish to each other and enjoy watching their dogs quarter into the breeze without having to worry about electricity bills and car payments. Who cares if you actually shoot anything? Days spent this way are there to be treasured and enjoyed for what they are.
So happy birthday Claudia, but I’m sorry. If your invitation to your birthday party where naked jelly wrestling is involved and the finest wines know to humanity are available, lands in my post box – I’M BUSY!

© William Simons