The fact that it's December finally caught up with us after spending three straight days here with sun and fairly clear skies. Yesterday, it rained and fogged. I slept in and walked down to the video store with my mom. We intended to rent Escape from Alcatraz with Clint Eastwood in preparation for the Alcatraz night tour, but the video store said the last person who rented it didn't return it. So we settled on, well, Superbad. Also a great film, but for different reasons.
After sitting around for most of the day reading (and then watching the movie), my parents, my brother, my brother's girlfriend, Whitney, her parents, and I took two cabs down to Pier 33 by Fisherman's Wharf to catch the evening tour to Alcatraz.
While people will tell you Alcatraz is the biggest tourist trap San Francisco has to offer, and in many ways I suppose it could be, I have to say it's worth every penny to take the 15 minute ferry ride across the bay to see it. As we rode over on the ferry at dusk, a translucent fog enveloped the island and we could still see the outline of the city in the distance. It felt eerie to climb to the top of the island and then into the prison and learn not only about the escape attempts, but of just what the day-to-day was like for the prisoners who lived there. It must have worn on the prisoners to see the life and vibrancy of the city from the island -- they knew they were so close, but yet couldn't be further away from freedom.
We took the ferry back across the bay. Adam and I decided we'd brave the weather (mostly fog and light rain) on the top deck. We grabbed a couple beers from the snack bar and went up there so I could point to parts of the city and have him explain where each neighborhood ended and the next one begun.
When we got back to Fisherman's Wharf, that's where the trouble began. Adam had made plans for us to eat at an Italian place in North Beach (that doesn't take reservations but where getting a table generally isn't a problem), and called to verify the address. When he phoned them, however, he learned that they were closed until January 9. As a result, and believe me, I felt bad for him, he was standing on a street corner with his parents, future in-laws, girlfriend and his brother with no table reserved anywhere on 8 p.m. on a Friday. We looked for cabs just to take us from Fisherman's Wharf up to North Beach, but none came. Apparently, anytime it rains in San Francisco, cabs become hard to find.
We eventually made it up to a small italian place but ended up waiting an additional hour for a table. My dad, Whitney's dad, Adam and myself ran up a tab of about 15 Moretti's and the women polished off a couple bottles of wine while we waited. Needless to say, we were feeling no pain by the time we finally got seated and ate some brick-oven pizza.
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Last couple days in San Francisco
A couple days worth of notes:On Wednesday, we had lunch at The Ramp. It's located just off Third Street by the Waterfront. According to Adam, the best thing about The Ramp is that for a restaurant on the water, it's a pretty well-kept secret from tourists. It's not far past AT&T Park (where the Giants play) and near the Portrero area of the city. The reason it might be kept so secret is that that part of the city, at the surface, isn't much to look at. A lot of it is under construction, as developers are betting it will be "the next big neighborhood" in San Francisco.
In the afternoon, we drove around the city and looked at potential neighborhoods for me to live in. Now: a word about my brother's driving. It's a bit on the aggressive side. His Volkswagen Passat is a standard, and he shifts in and out of lanes and swears and curses and pretty much lives by the Lynch mantra of driving with a sense of entitlement, if not anger.
We looked at the Haight Ashbury, which is a section I've wanted to live in since reading the Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test by Tom Wolfe about Ken Kesey and his Merry Pranksters when I was in high school. While it has kept the bohemian feel you read about, it's kind of J-Crew, tourist hippy at this point, where a lot of it seems contrived. That said, the residential parts have amazingly constructed homes with colorful paint and wonderful moldings.
Near the Haight is the Cole Valley area, which would be near transportation that would take me toward my work rather easily.
Afterward, we drove up along the Presidio and then back down to the bay where I went and looked at the Golden Gate, yet again. I thought about the scene in Vertigo where Jimmy Stewart follows Kim Novak and jumps in after her.
Yesterday:
Adam and I drove down to Burlingame in the afternoon and played golf at Crystal Springs, a course that overlooks, even in December, verdantly green hills. It runs along Buri Buri Ridge of the old San Mateo Rancho, and if you hook a ball a little too far, you could watch it fall down into the valley that where the 20-mile-long Crystal Springs Reservoir (and under it, part of the San Andreas fault) resides.
It was cold, though (in the forties), and we found ourselves blowing into our hands to keep warm and it stung to feel the vibrations of the club if you didn't hit the ball square (which, seeing as I hadn't played in a couple months, happened every now and again). We drank some Pilsners to keep warm and kept the windshield down on the golf cart.
In the evening, I took the muni downtown (to the financial district) and met Ben for dinner and drinks, which was a good time. With his wife due soon, I'd purchased a Red Sox onezie (sp) that I hope the little one will get good use from. Ben was pleased, saying it's the best possible baby gift I could have gotten them, so that was nice.
Afterward, I went back to the flat on Hyde Street my parents are renting, had a glass of wine and went to bed.
Christmas in San Francisco
My parents and I arrived into San Francisco International Airport (SFO) Christmas afternoon at around 2 p.m. It was around 50 degrees and clear and just generally beautiful to watch the skyline of the financial district emerge as my brother drove us into the city on 101 from the south.
We dropped off my parents at the flat their renting for the week up here in Russian Hill, a polished-looking but unpretentious part of the city that my brother, Adam, has lived in for almost a year now.
Adam and I picked up some food for dinner at a corner store that stayed open despite the holiday. Or, I should say, we picked up the side dishes. My dad actually hauled a Honey Ham in his carry-on bag for the 3,000 mile-plus plane ride that made the TSA folks at Logan sort of scratch their heads and laugh when it went through the surveillance machines. A heavyset guy walked to the end of the belt, where my dad was putting his shoes back on, and said, "Is that a ham in your bag?" And my dad responded that it indeed was, and the guy just chuckled and said he'd "seen it all."
In the evening, the four of us ate dinner at Adam's apartment and we drank some local beers brewed in Berkeley called Trumer Pilsner. After my parents left around 8, Adam and I grabbed a couple more beers and poured them into indiscreet-looking yellow party cups and walked through Sterling park, which is a small hill a few blocks from his apartment on Larkin Street. It has a nice view of the city. We then walked down Larkin further (which becomes so steep it requires steps) to the water and to the Golden Gate National Recreation Park. We sat on the cold stone steps of the Aquatic arena, which overlooks the water and in the distance, the Golden Gate Bridge. As we sat there and talked and sipped on some more beer, Adam noted that the sight of the Golden Gate "never gets old." I could see why. It was lit up and looked warm against the cold purple evening clouds that were coming in off the bay and slowing enveloping the hills of San Francisco.
Today, I went for a run down in the same area by the water. It was clear and crisp outside. I ran out to this point that curled around the Aquatic Arena and overlooked the Golden Gate from a similiar angle as I'd seen the night before. I think, at that moment, a feeling of renewal overcame me. During the past few weeks, with work and everything else going on, I had barely exercised at all. It was only in the low forties this morning, so it was cool, and I could feel my lungs work through the cold air as I ran along. It felt good as I ran along the water, back up Larkin (and the steps!) and back to my brother's for breakfast.
This afternoon, my mom, appalled by the state of my hair and "scraggly" beard, is taking me to this swanky barbershop to get a beard grooming and haircut. Afterward, I hope to go down to second street and see where my new office will be.
More posts to come.
We dropped off my parents at the flat their renting for the week up here in Russian Hill, a polished-looking but unpretentious part of the city that my brother, Adam, has lived in for almost a year now.
Adam and I picked up some food for dinner at a corner store that stayed open despite the holiday. Or, I should say, we picked up the side dishes. My dad actually hauled a Honey Ham in his carry-on bag for the 3,000 mile-plus plane ride that made the TSA folks at Logan sort of scratch their heads and laugh when it went through the surveillance machines. A heavyset guy walked to the end of the belt, where my dad was putting his shoes back on, and said, "Is that a ham in your bag?" And my dad responded that it indeed was, and the guy just chuckled and said he'd "seen it all."
In the evening, the four of us ate dinner at Adam's apartment and we drank some local beers brewed in Berkeley called Trumer Pilsner. After my parents left around 8, Adam and I grabbed a couple more beers and poured them into indiscreet-looking yellow party cups and walked through Sterling park, which is a small hill a few blocks from his apartment on Larkin Street. It has a nice view of the city. We then walked down Larkin further (which becomes so steep it requires steps) to the water and to the Golden Gate National Recreation Park. We sat on the cold stone steps of the Aquatic arena, which overlooks the water and in the distance, the Golden Gate Bridge. As we sat there and talked and sipped on some more beer, Adam noted that the sight of the Golden Gate "never gets old." I could see why. It was lit up and looked warm against the cold purple evening clouds that were coming in off the bay and slowing enveloping the hills of San Francisco.
Today, I went for a run down in the same area by the water. It was clear and crisp outside. I ran out to this point that curled around the Aquatic Arena and overlooked the Golden Gate from a similiar angle as I'd seen the night before. I think, at that moment, a feeling of renewal overcame me. During the past few weeks, with work and everything else going on, I had barely exercised at all. It was only in the low forties this morning, so it was cool, and I could feel my lungs work through the cold air as I ran along. It felt good as I ran along the water, back up Larkin (and the steps!) and back to my brother's for breakfast.
This afternoon, my mom, appalled by the state of my hair and "scraggly" beard, is taking me to this swanky barbershop to get a beard grooming and haircut. Afterward, I hope to go down to second street and see where my new office will be.
More posts to come.
Friday, October 12, 2007
Day in Voxholm...
Wrote this on the plane yesterday. Still trying to finish up the Sweden road diary. One more entry to come after this one.
In the morning, we went back over to the docks by the Grand Hotel (a famous hotel on the water where famous dignitaries and celebrities stay when they have business in Stockholm). We boarded a very new-looking ferryboat. Inside, we settled into a couple of comfortable bucket seats in the back of the boat (front of the boat was full), but we had a decent view of the water. We nibbled on some Swedish Pancakes and drank some more coffee we purchased from the cafe. As we navigated around the archipelago and watched the ferry chisel through the hard and frigid Baltic waters, we couldn't help but imagine what life must be like on some of the islands.
Some of the islands we passed were no bigger than Marcia and Geoff's yard in Conway, and on them stood small and tiny cottages. Sometimes, one stood alone on the island, with a small boat docked up 10 yards below the cottage, which was painted red, white or green. Over all of them, the Swedish flag whipped back and forth in the crisp air and you could see smoke billowing from the chimneys.
At some of the larger islands, where there were multiple houses, people would signal to the ferry to stop and pick them up at the public dock, so they could catch a ride with us to Voxholm, the biggest town in the area. We guessed they went in to pick up stuff they needed at the hardware or grocery store. They wheeled something akin to “granny carts” you'd see in the city, but they had compartments that protected their goods from the elements.
The ferry doesn't run to Voxholm as frequently in October because the islands' primary season is in the summer months. During the summer, we learned from a local later on in the day, the island becomes quite the touristic spectacle -- with thousands upon thousands of people thronging the main dock in town and the main street with its little shops.
We spent about four hours in Voxholm. Some shops had closed up for the winter, but others remained open. Though I didn't blame Rachel for wanting to peruse them, I insisted on us taking a walk around the island first. On our jaunt, we walked the small bike trails that hugged the water. The roads were made even narrower by the many leaves that had fallen. The houses on the water were small and modest. Parked in the narrow driveways, as you might expect, were volvos and saabs. The houses looked worn on the outside, but in a rustic way that hinted it might be a more intentional decision opposed to bad upkeep.
Down on the quays, sailboats and motor boats laid quietly docked, settling in for what we hear can be extremely long and dark winters.
We headed back into town and had lunch at this unmistakably Swedish cafe. The walls were lined with floral wallpaper and behind the counter played folksy Swedish music as the voice of a crooner sung in a language that sounds nice but that Rach and I didn't make much leeway in learning this trip. The owner made us some sandwiches as we sat inside and enjoyed the cafe's warmth (we'd stayed pretty warm from walking, but our cheeks had pinked by the time we made it inside).
We thanked the owner for a wonderful lunch and did some shopping around town. We went into a very small boutique, where Rachel got a pair of earrings made by an artist from Denmark. While inside, I sat in a comfortable leather chair so as not to rush her. While waiting, I couldn't help but get lost in this magnificently beautiful music playing over the sound system. To my amateur ear, it sounded like a cross of Keltic folk music with the heavy fiddle sound of bluegrass.
I found out from the owner it was neither. In fact, it was Swedish folk music played by a folk band she's quite fond of. I jotted down the band's name (Vasen), and purchased a CD of theirs in Stockholm later on in the day and I'm listening to it right now as I write this post on the plane ride back to Boston.
We got back to the boat around 3 p.m. This time, we got to the dock early and secured a nice seat in the front of the boat, where a glass room gave us a semi-panoramic view of the sea and the islands as we headed back to Stockholm. Only one more night left in the city and we wanted to pack in as much as we possibly could...
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
Out on the water
We had breakfast here at the hotel with Sarah before she headed off to class. Breakfast was nothing short of crazy and somewhat picked over. A large bus of Asian tourists clogged the buffet lines, and business people who are staying at the hotel shoveled down plates of eggs.
Rachel and I showered and took the T to Kungstrgarden, where we hoped to catch a ferry to one of the nearby islands. The one we'd initially hoped to catch had already left, so we settled for a general Archipelago tour that took us around all the islands of Stockholm.
On the water, we enjoyed the second straight day here of clear skies and sun. We spent time cruising around Saltsjon, which is a salt-water inlet of the Baltic Sea that many of the islands reside on. But then we went down a man-made channel to the western part of the city that took us into Lake Riddarfjarden, which was fresh water.
During the voyage, Rachel feel asleep for a few minutes because a lot of sun came into the cabin and sort of baked the room, making it feel warm and cozy as we looked out on the brisk Scandinavian waters. While she slept, I put on my coat and went in back where a couple other passengers were snapping pictures.
While I did take some pictures of Parliament and the Palace as we passed Stockholm center and Gamla Stan, the more rural parts of the trip interested me the most. The deciduous trees, now in their prime peak of autumn and hanging comfortably but not lazily over the water, ran flush to the shore in some places. On one side of Lake Riddarfjarden, I saw luxury apartment buildings that epitomized the Swede's long celebrated reputation for elegant, yet simple design. They were held up by long white pillars and had square decks overlooking the water. On the decks were slightly curved, wooden deck furniture.
We finished the tour and got off the boat around 1 p.m. before heading for a cafe in Central Stockholm (right near the bridge to Gamla Stan). I had a light sandwich and Rachel had a pumpkin soup. Believe it or not, we ate outdoors, as have many people the last few days. From what I've learned of winter here, I truly believe they'd rather bundle up and enjoy the sun while they can.
There won't be much more of it.
At the height of winter here, the sun rises around 9 a.m. and sets around 3 p.m. While Sweden gets rewarded with a sun that stays up to 11 p.m. in the summer, the locals here in Stockholm tell us the winters can be very depressing.
After lunch, we went to the Nobel Museum expecting to see a nice celebration of all the brilliant minds who have won the prize. Instead, it was somewhat of a dud. The layout was poor. It had very little helpful information and very few displays that really put the Nobel prize on the pedestal it deserves.
But, we've been lucky the entire trip with our choosing of activities, so we didn't let it perturb us too much. We walked around more of Gamla Stan that we'd missed yesterday and then back to Central Stockholm and down Drottinggatan.
We stopped in a small, uniquely Swedish restaurant with moderate prices that Rachel and I booked a reservation at tonight. We just woke from a much-needed nap and are going to head over there soon.
P.S. We're still in disbelief the Yankees lost. But bring on Cleveland! Gives us something to look forward to when we come back Thursday.
Rachel and I showered and took the T to Kungstrgarden, where we hoped to catch a ferry to one of the nearby islands. The one we'd initially hoped to catch had already left, so we settled for a general Archipelago tour that took us around all the islands of Stockholm.
On the water, we enjoyed the second straight day here of clear skies and sun. We spent time cruising around Saltsjon, which is a salt-water inlet of the Baltic Sea that many of the islands reside on. But then we went down a man-made channel to the western part of the city that took us into Lake Riddarfjarden, which was fresh water.
During the voyage, Rachel feel asleep for a few minutes because a lot of sun came into the cabin and sort of baked the room, making it feel warm and cozy as we looked out on the brisk Scandinavian waters. While she slept, I put on my coat and went in back where a couple other passengers were snapping pictures.
While I did take some pictures of Parliament and the Palace as we passed Stockholm center and Gamla Stan, the more rural parts of the trip interested me the most. The deciduous trees, now in their prime peak of autumn and hanging comfortably but not lazily over the water, ran flush to the shore in some places. On one side of Lake Riddarfjarden, I saw luxury apartment buildings that epitomized the Swede's long celebrated reputation for elegant, yet simple design. They were held up by long white pillars and had square decks overlooking the water. On the decks were slightly curved, wooden deck furniture.
We finished the tour and got off the boat around 1 p.m. before heading for a cafe in Central Stockholm (right near the bridge to Gamla Stan). I had a light sandwich and Rachel had a pumpkin soup. Believe it or not, we ate outdoors, as have many people the last few days. From what I've learned of winter here, I truly believe they'd rather bundle up and enjoy the sun while they can.
There won't be much more of it.
At the height of winter here, the sun rises around 9 a.m. and sets around 3 p.m. While Sweden gets rewarded with a sun that stays up to 11 p.m. in the summer, the locals here in Stockholm tell us the winters can be very depressing.
After lunch, we went to the Nobel Museum expecting to see a nice celebration of all the brilliant minds who have won the prize. Instead, it was somewhat of a dud. The layout was poor. It had very little helpful information and very few displays that really put the Nobel prize on the pedestal it deserves.
But, we've been lucky the entire trip with our choosing of activities, so we didn't let it perturb us too much. We walked around more of Gamla Stan that we'd missed yesterday and then back to Central Stockholm and down Drottinggatan.
We stopped in a small, uniquely Swedish restaurant with moderate prices that Rachel and I booked a reservation at tonight. We just woke from a much-needed nap and are going to head over there soon.
P.S. We're still in disbelief the Yankees lost. But bring on Cleveland! Gives us something to look forward to when we come back Thursday.
One very full day in Stockholm
We spent yesterday morning in Gamla Stan, the “old” section of Stockholm. While the temperature never climbed much above 50, it was an amazing, blue sky day, and it was fun to walk around the narrow, cobblestoned streets. We walked up by Parliament, a large stone building near the water. We then went up to the Palace where we saw the soldiers getting ready for the changing of the guards.
We had lunch at a wonderful little cafe in Gamla Stan, where we had pressed sandwiches and a Swedish Apple Crisp doused in cream (we're going to gain 10 pounds each this trip!). Rachel did some shopping and perused the small boutiques while I meandered the streets taking pictures and listened to the street sounds of two fiddle players.
In the afternoon, we went back towards central Stockholm and over to the Vasa museum. We took a guided tour (in English), so I was able to learn the following:
The Vasa was a Swedish warship built for King Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden. Construction began in 1626 and ended in 1628. The ship was made in preparation for Sweden's war with Poland, and King Gustavus Adolphus thought it would establish him and Sweden as a true power in Europe.
But the Swedes (and the dutch fellow they hired) apparently weren't the best warship builders. The elegant boat, decorated with fancy moldings of figures like King David and the Roman Emperors, was very top-heavy with inadequate ballast.
On August 10, 1628, the Vasa made its maiden voyage from outside the palace in Stockholm. The crew brought their women and children on board to celebrate the occasion (they planned, of course, to drop them off at one of the islands along the archipelago before heading off to war). They fired salutes to the Sweden before heading off to sea as thousands thronged the docks in celebration to see the ship make its glorious trip towards Poland, where the Swedish king was awaiting his new weapon.
But they didn't get that far.
In fact, the boat got no more than 15 minutes away from the dock when it tipped to one side, failed to right itself, and slipped rather sadly into sea. About 30 were killed, and many survived due to the accident occurring close to shore.
Because the Baltic sea isn't every salty, it doesn't allow a type of worm to thrive that typically eats away things like wood on the ocean floor. As a result, the Swedes were able to pull the ship up in the early 1960s. They couldn't just let it dry quickly though, because the wood would eventually just crack apart. In order to preserve it, they sprayed polyethylene glycol on it for 17 years and then allowed it to dry for nine years.
The result is truly incredible. It's the only fully-restored boat from the 17th century. They placed it in this museum and now it's eerie to look at this ship and think of its doomed voyage 400 years ago. Though it wasn't seaworthy, it looks glorious. The moldings along the side are extremely elegant, and it evoked various Hollywood images of conquest and war.
In the evening, we met Sarah around 5:30 p.m. and headed for the southern part of Stockholm to see the Hammarby Football (Soccer) Club. We stood in the general admission section, located behind the goal, with the hardcore fans. They screamed and sung songs the entire game enthusiastically, watching their team exercise futility against a much better Helsingborg team. The cold and wind swept up the stands and the three of us huddled together drinking Swedish beer.
Down two goals with only about 15 minutes to play, a fan threw and object at one of the officials and the game was called early. While they were deliberating whether or not to call the game, we hightailed it out of there because when they call a game they lock in the hardcore fans until the opposing team's fans leave.
In the evening, we retreated to the Scandic Alvic for a drink before heading to bed. Today, we're off to hopefully take a ferry today to one of the islands.
We had lunch at a wonderful little cafe in Gamla Stan, where we had pressed sandwiches and a Swedish Apple Crisp doused in cream (we're going to gain 10 pounds each this trip!). Rachel did some shopping and perused the small boutiques while I meandered the streets taking pictures and listened to the street sounds of two fiddle players.
In the afternoon, we went back towards central Stockholm and over to the Vasa museum. We took a guided tour (in English), so I was able to learn the following:
The Vasa was a Swedish warship built for King Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden. Construction began in 1626 and ended in 1628. The ship was made in preparation for Sweden's war with Poland, and King Gustavus Adolphus thought it would establish him and Sweden as a true power in Europe.
But the Swedes (and the dutch fellow they hired) apparently weren't the best warship builders. The elegant boat, decorated with fancy moldings of figures like King David and the Roman Emperors, was very top-heavy with inadequate ballast.
On August 10, 1628, the Vasa made its maiden voyage from outside the palace in Stockholm. The crew brought their women and children on board to celebrate the occasion (they planned, of course, to drop them off at one of the islands along the archipelago before heading off to war). They fired salutes to the Sweden before heading off to sea as thousands thronged the docks in celebration to see the ship make its glorious trip towards Poland, where the Swedish king was awaiting his new weapon.
But they didn't get that far.
In fact, the boat got no more than 15 minutes away from the dock when it tipped to one side, failed to right itself, and slipped rather sadly into sea. About 30 were killed, and many survived due to the accident occurring close to shore.
Because the Baltic sea isn't every salty, it doesn't allow a type of worm to thrive that typically eats away things like wood on the ocean floor. As a result, the Swedes were able to pull the ship up in the early 1960s. They couldn't just let it dry quickly though, because the wood would eventually just crack apart. In order to preserve it, they sprayed polyethylene glycol on it for 17 years and then allowed it to dry for nine years.
The result is truly incredible. It's the only fully-restored boat from the 17th century. They placed it in this museum and now it's eerie to look at this ship and think of its doomed voyage 400 years ago. Though it wasn't seaworthy, it looks glorious. The moldings along the side are extremely elegant, and it evoked various Hollywood images of conquest and war.
In the evening, we met Sarah around 5:30 p.m. and headed for the southern part of Stockholm to see the Hammarby Football (Soccer) Club. We stood in the general admission section, located behind the goal, with the hardcore fans. They screamed and sung songs the entire game enthusiastically, watching their team exercise futility against a much better Helsingborg team. The cold and wind swept up the stands and the three of us huddled together drinking Swedish beer.
Down two goals with only about 15 minutes to play, a fan threw and object at one of the officials and the game was called early. While they were deliberating whether or not to call the game, we hightailed it out of there because when they call a game they lock in the hardcore fans until the opposing team's fans leave.
In the evening, we retreated to the Scandic Alvic for a drink before heading to bed. Today, we're off to hopefully take a ferry today to one of the islands.
Monday, October 8, 2007
Dinner in a Swedish Home
After taking it easy for most of the daytime so Rachel and I could get some much-needed rest, we had dinner with Sarah's host parents at their flat. They live in Ostermalm, an affluent residential area to the north in Stockholm. When we got off the T, we walked down a street lined with classical residential buildings as well as a few modern ones. Between the eastbound and westbound traffic, in the median, was a beautiful park with benches, well-manicured grass and golden-leaved trees.
We arrived at their flat around 5 p.m. Christina and Oke (sp), a couple in their early 60s, were some of the nicest people we've ever met. Their flat was beautiful and spacious, almost stately, with pictures of their two recently married daughters, radiantly blond, blue-eyed, and beautiful, resting on the shelf beside their dining room table. We saw pictures of their two grandchildren, Gustav and Adam, both of whom looked adorable.
The flat had hardwood floors and very classical furniture, with tapering legs on the chairs and very straight and sturdy tables. A lot of their furnishings, including a candle holder and some of the throw pillows on the couch, had been designed by a Jewish artist from Austria who'd fled to Sweden during World War II (I wish I had the name. Though I've been carrying around my notepad for most of this trip, I thought it would have been rude to jot notes down during this social occasion).
Their youngest son, David, also came by for dinner. He is 24 and studying at the School of Economics here in Stockholm, a very well-regarded institution that's very hard to get into from what Sarah tells us. Like his parents, he spoke English very well and was extremely kind.
During cocktails in their living room, we discussed some of the transitions occurring here in Sweden, where the traditionally liberal and social democrats (socialists, by American standards) were recently ousted as the majority party in the 2006 election by more center-leaning moderates who want to cut taxes and prevent people from taking advantage (or abusing) Sweden's "welfare state" form of government.
Sarah's host family supported the changes, mostly for the reason of taxation, David and Oke told me (and looking at how nice his flat was, I could see why!). During our conversations, we talked about how Sweden and the US could learn a lot from each other by moving their current systems of government more towards one another. Sweden, for instance, could move a little more to the right by lowering its taxes (how does 60 percent or so of your income sound?!) and allowing for greater professional mobility where you don't get locked into to doing one job for your whole life. The U.S., on the other hand, could move a little more to the left by making things like health care and education a right rather than an expensive privilege.
We had a delicious dinner of homemade chicken, rice and mixed greens, followed by a Swedish Apple pie that you dump this thick cream over (almost as thick as a custard). Around 8 p.m., we gave Sarah's host family our sincere thanks and we went on our way.
We arrived at their flat around 5 p.m. Christina and Oke (sp), a couple in their early 60s, were some of the nicest people we've ever met. Their flat was beautiful and spacious, almost stately, with pictures of their two recently married daughters, radiantly blond, blue-eyed, and beautiful, resting on the shelf beside their dining room table. We saw pictures of their two grandchildren, Gustav and Adam, both of whom looked adorable.
The flat had hardwood floors and very classical furniture, with tapering legs on the chairs and very straight and sturdy tables. A lot of their furnishings, including a candle holder and some of the throw pillows on the couch, had been designed by a Jewish artist from Austria who'd fled to Sweden during World War II (I wish I had the name. Though I've been carrying around my notepad for most of this trip, I thought it would have been rude to jot notes down during this social occasion).
Their youngest son, David, also came by for dinner. He is 24 and studying at the School of Economics here in Stockholm, a very well-regarded institution that's very hard to get into from what Sarah tells us. Like his parents, he spoke English very well and was extremely kind.
During cocktails in their living room, we discussed some of the transitions occurring here in Sweden, where the traditionally liberal and social democrats (socialists, by American standards) were recently ousted as the majority party in the 2006 election by more center-leaning moderates who want to cut taxes and prevent people from taking advantage (or abusing) Sweden's "welfare state" form of government.
Sarah's host family supported the changes, mostly for the reason of taxation, David and Oke told me (and looking at how nice his flat was, I could see why!). During our conversations, we talked about how Sweden and the US could learn a lot from each other by moving their current systems of government more towards one another. Sweden, for instance, could move a little more to the right by lowering its taxes (how does 60 percent or so of your income sound?!) and allowing for greater professional mobility where you don't get locked into to doing one job for your whole life. The U.S., on the other hand, could move a little more to the left by making things like health care and education a right rather than an expensive privilege.
We had a delicious dinner of homemade chicken, rice and mixed greens, followed by a Swedish Apple pie that you dump this thick cream over (almost as thick as a custard). Around 8 p.m., we gave Sarah's host family our sincere thanks and we went on our way.
Sunday, October 7, 2007
Evening in Stockholm
All the walking we did yesterday worked up quite an appetite. Saturday nights in Stockholm are quite busy, and at Sarah's advisement, we made a reservation at a wonderful little Swedish restaurang called Entre, located at 78 Folkungagatan, a little south of Stockholm center.
It was a quiet and pleasant place. It had hardwood floors and very dim lights. Candles on the table. Sarah and Rachel ordered fish and I had a cut of steak, which was perfectly cooked. After dinner, we went to a bar called Mest Bar & Kok. I ordered a couple pints of Swedish lager and the girls had some mixed drinks before we went back to the hotel and called it a night after a very long, but very productive day.
One other highlight from yesterday:
-Sarah had said she'd found a “sports bar” for me to watch the Red Sox game tonight (daytime for you folks back in New England). She didn't realize just how much she struck gold. We stopped by O'Leary's, which in its tagline (as you can see from their website here) describes themselves as an authentic “Boston-American sports bar.” We walked inside to find banners of the Red Sox, Bruins, Celtics and Patriots. Autographed pictures of Boston legends like Larry Bird hung on the walls. We're pretty sure that if one establishment in Stockholm will show the game, it'll be this place, where the owner is from Nantucket.
Today, Sarah's host family plan to cook us a homemade Swedish dinner, so we look forward to that very much. After the dinner, we'll head over to O'Leary's to hopefully watch Big Schill finish out the ALDS in Boston's favor.
It was a quiet and pleasant place. It had hardwood floors and very dim lights. Candles on the table. Sarah and Rachel ordered fish and I had a cut of steak, which was perfectly cooked. After dinner, we went to a bar called Mest Bar & Kok. I ordered a couple pints of Swedish lager and the girls had some mixed drinks before we went back to the hotel and called it a night after a very long, but very productive day.
One other highlight from yesterday:
-Sarah had said she'd found a “sports bar” for me to watch the Red Sox game tonight (daytime for you folks back in New England). She didn't realize just how much she struck gold. We stopped by O'Leary's, which in its tagline (as you can see from their website here) describes themselves as an authentic “Boston-American sports bar.” We walked inside to find banners of the Red Sox, Bruins, Celtics and Patriots. Autographed pictures of Boston legends like Larry Bird hung on the walls. We're pretty sure that if one establishment in Stockholm will show the game, it'll be this place, where the owner is from Nantucket.
Today, Sarah's host family plan to cook us a homemade Swedish dinner, so we look forward to that very much. After the dinner, we'll head over to O'Leary's to hopefully watch Big Schill finish out the ALDS in Boston's favor.
Saturday, October 6, 2007
Autumn in Stockholm
We began the day with our breakfast (included) at the Hotel Alvik. Sarah joined us. It was quite the spread, with a lot of the usual stuff (eggs, toast) and some nice additions like Swedish pancakes. They had the texture of a crepe and you topped them with a jelly or jam.
It was an overcast morning, and about 45 degrees. I've read that's fairly typical weather for this time of year here. Sarah tells us we can also expect sporadic periods of rain, though today has been dry.
We went across the street from the hotel to the Alvick T stop (yes, they call it the “T” here, too). Rachel and I purchased 7-day T passes for Skr 230 ($35), a really great value when you consider each ride is $5 a pop if you pay-by-the-drink.
The subway here didn't disappoint. It was clean and had very comfortable seats. Was it a smooth ride, you ask? Well, I saw a gentleman standing and reading a Swedish Metro, holding the pages open with both hands – not once did he see the need to grab one of the handle bars.
We took the metro to T-Centralen (which runs below Centralstationen and is the main hub for the T lines). We walked upstairs to the lower plaza of Sergel's Torg (translated: Sergel's Square). Sergel's Torg is sort of the epicenter for dissent here, I'm told, in the form of protests. Recently, there was an international one opposing the United States occupation of Iraq.
Today, though, there weren't protests. Instead, there was a skateboarding/snowboarding festival. Sweet Skateboards had its sign over a half-pipe that was set up along the lower plaza beside the entrance to T-Centralen. Over on several flights of stairs leading down to the lower plaza, a dump truck unloaded tons and tons of snow. Boys dressed in baggy skater pants smoothed the snow over the steps, giving it a nice consistency. At the top, they built a ramp and dumped snow over it. I thought it'd be fun to stay and watch a few jumps, but we kept moving.
We climbed the stairs from the lower plaza and began strolling down Drattninggaton, a street lined with shops (some touristy with postcard stands in the doorway) but others more fashionable. The Swedes, it seems, are generally very fashionable. We spoke with Sarah about her conversations with her aunt, who works in fashion in New York. She says while Stockholm is by no means a first adopter (that distinction, of course, belongs to New York and Paris), they at least pay attention very closely to what's going on in those bellwether cities and then follow soon after. Everyone here is dressed in points. Pointy shoes, coats with pointy cuts. It's sort of a 1980s, quasi-punk, pseudo-hipster style (Disclaimer: I know nothing of fashion, so that's my crude assessment).
We ambled around the Norrmalm section of the city before moving slightly east and down along the water. As we walked along Strandvagen (a road that runs along the Djurgardsbrunnsviken inlet, we saw ferry boats that take people around the archipelago of the city. The buildings along the water, a lot of which are owned by companies or are hotels, looked marvelous with their empire-like towers.
We had lunch back at Sergels Square. We ate in Bern's restaurant and Cafe, which resides in an ugly modern building over the sqaure but that had wonderful food. We had pressed sandwiches and Pepsi's from longneck, retro-looking bottles.
In the afternoon, we took the Redline T south two stops to the Slussen stop, where we went to the unapologetically touristy (yet really helpful) Katarinahissen, a tall elevator, that shows you a bird's eye view of the city from high up. We paid Skr 10 each to take it to the top. The viewing area is basically a long walkway, which leads you into one of Stockholm's little neighborhoods. We stopped by a park and I took some pictures of the foliage.
The smell of the smoke billowing from a nearby chimney, coupled with the brittle leaves cracking under our feet, evinced thoughts of a New England winter back home. Oddly, I didn't find the thought depressing as much as a comforting reassurance that the seasons still change, after all.
We took the T back to our hotel and Sarah to her apartment for a much needed nap. Such a full day, but we still had dinner and a Saturday night out in Stockholm to contend with...
It was an overcast morning, and about 45 degrees. I've read that's fairly typical weather for this time of year here. Sarah tells us we can also expect sporadic periods of rain, though today has been dry.
We went across the street from the hotel to the Alvick T stop (yes, they call it the “T” here, too). Rachel and I purchased 7-day T passes for Skr 230 ($35), a really great value when you consider each ride is $5 a pop if you pay-by-the-drink.
The subway here didn't disappoint. It was clean and had very comfortable seats. Was it a smooth ride, you ask? Well, I saw a gentleman standing and reading a Swedish Metro, holding the pages open with both hands – not once did he see the need to grab one of the handle bars.
We took the metro to T-Centralen (which runs below Centralstationen and is the main hub for the T lines). We walked upstairs to the lower plaza of Sergel's Torg (translated: Sergel's Square). Sergel's Torg is sort of the epicenter for dissent here, I'm told, in the form of protests. Recently, there was an international one opposing the United States occupation of Iraq.
Today, though, there weren't protests. Instead, there was a skateboarding/snowboarding festival. Sweet Skateboards had its sign over a half-pipe that was set up along the lower plaza beside the entrance to T-Centralen. Over on several flights of stairs leading down to the lower plaza, a dump truck unloaded tons and tons of snow. Boys dressed in baggy skater pants smoothed the snow over the steps, giving it a nice consistency. At the top, they built a ramp and dumped snow over it. I thought it'd be fun to stay and watch a few jumps, but we kept moving.
We climbed the stairs from the lower plaza and began strolling down Drattninggaton, a street lined with shops (some touristy with postcard stands in the doorway) but others more fashionable. The Swedes, it seems, are generally very fashionable. We spoke with Sarah about her conversations with her aunt, who works in fashion in New York. She says while Stockholm is by no means a first adopter (that distinction, of course, belongs to New York and Paris), they at least pay attention very closely to what's going on in those bellwether cities and then follow soon after. Everyone here is dressed in points. Pointy shoes, coats with pointy cuts. It's sort of a 1980s, quasi-punk, pseudo-hipster style (Disclaimer: I know nothing of fashion, so that's my crude assessment).
We ambled around the Norrmalm section of the city before moving slightly east and down along the water. As we walked along Strandvagen (a road that runs along the Djurgardsbrunnsviken inlet, we saw ferry boats that take people around the archipelago of the city. The buildings along the water, a lot of which are owned by companies or are hotels, looked marvelous with their empire-like towers.
We had lunch back at Sergels Square. We ate in Bern's restaurant and Cafe, which resides in an ugly modern building over the sqaure but that had wonderful food. We had pressed sandwiches and Pepsi's from longneck, retro-looking bottles.
In the afternoon, we took the Redline T south two stops to the Slussen stop, where we went to the unapologetically touristy (yet really helpful) Katarinahissen, a tall elevator, that shows you a bird's eye view of the city from high up. We paid Skr 10 each to take it to the top. The viewing area is basically a long walkway, which leads you into one of Stockholm's little neighborhoods. We stopped by a park and I took some pictures of the foliage.
The smell of the smoke billowing from a nearby chimney, coupled with the brittle leaves cracking under our feet, evinced thoughts of a New England winter back home. Oddly, I didn't find the thought depressing as much as a comforting reassurance that the seasons still change, after all.
We took the T back to our hotel and Sarah to her apartment for a much needed nap. Such a full day, but we still had dinner and a Saturday night out in Stockholm to contend with...
Friday, October 5, 2007
First day in Sweden
We had a wonderful dinner with Sarah last night. Because our stomachs were still recovering from the IcelandAir food, we opted to wait a day before going native. We went out for pizza and salad at this great Italian restaurant down the street, and I tried a pint of some wonderful Swedish lager.
A couple things we learned:
-In Sweden, most people eat their pizza with a knife and fork. As such, pizza is delivered to you un-sliced.
-They aren't keen on you sharing things here, but we opted to go our own American way and order two pizzas and one big salad.
By 8:15, the three of us retreated to the Scandic Alvic. Sarah went to peck away at my computer (her apartment lacks internet access) and when she turned around she likely found that Rach and I had already checked out while watching a Swedish gameshow on television.
Up this morning with a little more spring in our step after 10-plus hours of sleep and a Red Sox win. Going to check out the city today, and we'll have more to write about later.
Manny!
God Morgon! Sounds like another electric playoff game, with Manny coming through in the ninth. I can't wait to read Gordon Edes' gamer, which I suppose he's probably still working to file back in Boston.
Some random, if not jumbled, thoughts for now:
Jack Curry already filed his account in the New York Times. It seems the foul ball that the 17-year-old kid, Danny Vinik, nabbed in the ninth proved a real difference maker. He also noted the kid had more class than certain little New Yorker back in 1996.
Curry writes:
Vinik was not overzealous like Jeffrey Maier, a 12-year-old who reached out and pulled Derek Jeter’s flyball over the right-field fence for a tainted homer during the 1996 post-season. All Vinik, a tall, thin 17-year old, did was win a jump ball of sorts over Mathis.
If nothing else, walking Ortiz to get to Manny (which, if you're Angels Manager Mike Scioscia, was of the right thing to do) serves as another example of just how devastating this historic duo has been over the years, even with Manny experiencing an off-year.
And, of course, to make things better: The Yankees Lose! The Yankees Lose! Bugs were swarming Jaba Chamberlain in the eight inning. At least, that seems to be the excuse offered on the part of this AP story. Kepner focused in on the nats for his story too, but a loss is a loss, so far as I'm concerned, and blaming it on mosquitoes seems plain silly. I still don't count New York out of that series, but it's nice to know it can't end in New York.
At the end of this Boston AP story, I couldn't help but notice Manny actually gave the reporter comments. I wonder if he spoke with the entire media? If so, that's the first I remember him talking all year.
I found Dice-K's performance unfortunate, if not troubling. The sixty pitches through two innings must have been excruciating to watch. But it was his first start in post season, and it's remarkable how well the Sox bullpen held the line.
It looks like there's a possibility of my catching game 3 out here in Sweden. It starts at 3 p.m. ET, which is 9 here. Sarah, ever so conscious of the fact it's October, has already scouted out two sports bars for me.
Some random, if not jumbled, thoughts for now:
Jack Curry already filed his account in the New York Times. It seems the foul ball that the 17-year-old kid, Danny Vinik, nabbed in the ninth proved a real difference maker. He also noted the kid had more class than certain little New Yorker back in 1996.
Curry writes:
Vinik was not overzealous like Jeffrey Maier, a 12-year-old who reached out and pulled Derek Jeter’s flyball over the right-field fence for a tainted homer during the 1996 post-season. All Vinik, a tall, thin 17-year old, did was win a jump ball of sorts over Mathis.
If nothing else, walking Ortiz to get to Manny (which, if you're Angels Manager Mike Scioscia, was of the right thing to do) serves as another example of just how devastating this historic duo has been over the years, even with Manny experiencing an off-year.
And, of course, to make things better: The Yankees Lose! The Yankees Lose! Bugs were swarming Jaba Chamberlain in the eight inning. At least, that seems to be the excuse offered on the part of this AP story. Kepner focused in on the nats for his story too, but a loss is a loss, so far as I'm concerned, and blaming it on mosquitoes seems plain silly. I still don't count New York out of that series, but it's nice to know it can't end in New York.
At the end of this Boston AP story, I couldn't help but notice Manny actually gave the reporter comments. I wonder if he spoke with the entire media? If so, that's the first I remember him talking all year.
I found Dice-K's performance unfortunate, if not troubling. The sixty pitches through two innings must have been excruciating to watch. But it was his first start in post season, and it's remarkable how well the Sox bullpen held the line.
It looks like there's a possibility of my catching game 3 out here in Sweden. It starts at 3 p.m. ET, which is 9 here. Sarah, ever so conscious of the fact it's October, has already scouted out two sports bars for me.
You're Welcome, Stockholm
Well, we didn't exactly strut in with the swagger of Will Ferrell in Blades of Glory (to whom we dedicated the title of this post). The second plane was even more cramped and I looked like a train wreck. Luckily Rachel caught some rest because the plane was designed for small and lovely petite people like herself. In total, I probably got 45 minutes of sleep all night.
After getting our luggage, we hopped on the Arlanda Express, a clean and quick train that takes you to Stockholm's Centralstationen.
Once we got to Centralstationen, we tried to find the subway train to get to the Hotel Scadic Alvik, which is in Bromma, just slightly west of the city. We were too road-weary to understand the transit worker who, despite speaking good English, was having trouble explaining to us the proper way to go.
So we got a cab and arrived at the hotel. Rachel's sister, Sarah, was waiting for us. We went up to our room, which, true to form (and I'm afraid American stereotypes), looks like part of an IKEA catalog. Very well designed furniture that utilizes a small amount of space. It's wonderful hotel (Hilton owned) with very friendly employees.
Elated to read Kepner's gamer today that the Yankees got beat up pretty good in game one against the Cleveland Indians. Pulling for Dice-K to have a big one tonight (or early tomorrow morning for me!).
-CGL
You mean, it's not really made of ice?
God Morgon from Iceland. I'm going to have to post this later because, call me crazy, $76 for one hour of internet access seems excessive, and that's the going rate here at the Reykjavik airport.
Our flight on IcelandAir was on-time. That is about all we can say. The legroom/accommodations were of the Southwest Airlines variety – that is, cramped, uncomfortable and conducive to a lot of clock-watching. I ate some meatballs they served on the plane, which I regretted ever since (battling a sour stomach with Tums). But obviously you get what you pay for.
As I sit here, bleary eyed and exhausted, I can't help but think of my first memory of Iceland. I was seven-years-old and looking at the laminated world map I used as a place-mat. I remember asking my dad, “is it a big chunk of ice?” My brother, Adam, grinned, before coyly replying that it indeed was made from ice and even floated. My dad eventually broke Adam's fun and told me he'd heard Iceland was a beautiful place.
It's about 35 degrees Fahrenheit, and very rainy outside. We sat next to a nice doctor from Las Vegas who said he saw a special on Iceland on the History Channel and decided to fly here on a whim. He seemed pretty road weary.
Our flight to Stockholm is about to board, and off we go!
-CGL
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