In January 2011 Marita arrived in Uppsala, Sweden, for a semester of exchange. She enjoyed it. She enjoyed it a lot. She enjoyed it so much she's here for a year now. This is what she gets up to.
München ‘n’ Crünchen
November arrived and I hadn’t left Sweden since a cheeky booze cruise to Tallinn in early July (thank you so much, migrationsverket). Shit, I’d hardly left Uppsala except for a weekend down in Göteborg. So it was planned. A booze cruise to Riga. It would be cheap, easy, drunken and… cheap. Or so we thought. The dickhead who planned the trip (yo!) didn’t book tickets early enough, so they got ridiculously expensive, sold out and there were no last minute deals. The Thursday before we were supposed to leave, Catherine, Kelsey (fellow club workers, Americans) and I sat around, resolute that we would not stay in Uppsala for another weekend. After our shift had finished we trawled for last minute flights… and ended up booking flights to Munich, 11 hours before the plane was due to depart.
New Town Hall, Marienplatz. Saaa prettaaaay
Up disgracefully early the next morning, we made the inescapable drop-in at Kalmar and jumped on a bus to Arlanda airport, giggling like idiots, overjoyed to be getting out of Uppsala. Waiting to board, we were still a little surprised at how our plans had turned out. Two hours later we touched down in the Bavarian capital, kinda buzzed for a variety of reasons, playing on the travelators and trying to work out how the hell to actually get to the city. Ohhhh, the S-bahn to the Hbf? Easy (Train to central station, of course). More giggling on public transport. Indulging in a couple of pretzels whilst trying to find a map, we began to realise how much cheaper than Sweden things were. And Munich is supposed to be pretty expensive. We checked into the hostel, south west of the city centre, met the three Americans in our room (argh, surrounded), and ventured out into the streets, hell bent on getting pizza. We trawled the most food-barren area of Munich, it seemed, but finally, on the home stretch, found super shitty cheap awesome pizza. A cheeky radler and mcflurry to finish the binge, then we craaaaaaaaashed. No, that’s a lie. We got back, had a nanna nap, got up, played pool in the hostel bar and watched…. Blade? yeah, i think so, dubbed in German.
Beers with Annelie, Kelsey and Catherine in the English Park.
Out and about and staaaaaaaaaarving the next morning, we moseyed up to the actual city centre, hell bent on a serious breakfast. Saturday morning, there was a buttload of people out shopping and we were struggling to find a restaurant cheap enough, beery enough and all day breakfast-y enough for our needs. Eventually we settled on place staffed by people in lederhosen and sunk our first litre of the day. Outdoors, beautiful sunny day, a hilarious street performer/busker dude, good schnitzel led to the inevitable second litre. We met up with Annelie, a friend from last semester who recently moved to Munich for her master’s, and tried to do a little shopping. When I realised I couldn’t stand up straight in a shoe shop we decided to head up and look at the university and the English Park. We walked past some impressive historical sites, like where Hitler was arrested, saw a cool staircase and grabbed some frozen yoghurt. Seriously, we spent so much time eating. In the park we found a giant rubber mat-type thing on a hill that little kids seemed to be sliding down… so we had a cheeky slide with them. Then out to a beer garden, moaaaar beer and food. Farewelling Annelie, we found another bar that was super quiet, relatively cheap and played a few rounds of hillbilly. Following their directions to the nearest Thai place (because when you think Germany, you think good Thai), we gorged on pretty good food and cocktails. Goodbye, money. The trip home was… retarded. Hilariously retarded. Back at the hostel we tried to get last minute flights back home. Not a chance on Sunday. Or Monday. Faaaark. Ended up booking way too expensive flights. Eh, you only live once.
Walking home was possibly the most entertaining part of the day
Sunday morning. Check out. Head up to Marienplatz. Free walking tour? You know it. A tiny Irish guy showed us around parts of the old town, reconstructed buildings, and shared interesting info. Sadly we had to leave early so we could grab a train out to Dachau. It was worth it, though. The Dachau concentration camp memorial site was one of the most moving, overwhelming, depressing and unbelievable places I have ever been. Walking through the main gate, we arrived in a massive open space administrative buildings on the right, barracks on the left. It was startling how big the space was, trying to comprehend just how many people would have been imprisoned in this camp in any one time. The old admin buildings have been converted into a museum that provided masses of information. I gave up about halfway through. Too depressing. We walked past row after row of empty concrete slabs, representing where the barracks used to stand. The crematorium we saw last. It’s one of those things I hesitate to talk about because I don’t want to come across as too condescending or glib or idiotic. There was a woman who was posing for photos in the gas chamber and in front of the furnaces. It made me super uncomfortable. A difficult afternoon, but, like I said, worth it.
Entrance gate at Dachau
Train back to Munich, Catherine and Kelsey getting told off by old ladies for putting their feet on the seats, idiotic laughing, craving pretzels. Ahhhhh, familiar territory. We checked in at a new hostel, hit the bar then met Annelie for dins. Kelsey couldn’t handle her spicy pasta. We wanted more food. We ventured back to the the train station to try and get shampoo and junk food. Yeah. Should probably mention Munich is traditionally super Catholic and EVERYFUCKINGTHING is shut on Sundays. Except for the shops at the Hbf. Thank god. ‘Cause I was a greasepig in desperate need of a good shower with shampoo and conditioner. We said toodles to Annelie, a little sad to do so. (Come to Aus next year, lady!). Showers. Retardation. Bed.
Eating. Again.
Final day. Flight’s at 2.30pm. Plans? Shopping. Booze. Then home for Catherine and Kelsey to work, and me to Norrlands. I heard Kelsey needed boots. We weren’t 100% sure about that, but there was definitely a rumour about Kelsey wanting boots. Kelsey, boots? (Ahhhhhhhhhh yeah). S-bahn back to Marienplatz. Bakery! Food! Of course. In a mad search for a supermarket we ended up at the viktualienmarkt, looking at all the knickknack-y shit. It’s 12.30. Let’s get out to the airport at 1? Yeah. Hang on, just check that flight time. Wait. 1.15pm? “CATHERINE! OUR FLIGHT LEAVES IN 45 MINUTES. RUUUUUUUUUUUUN!” Sooooo, sprint 20m. Realise it’s a 40 minute train trip out to the airport anyway. Get angry. Get sad. Get nervous. Giggle like bitches at our stupidity. Hit ourselves in the face. Try to avoid thinking about money. Get nervous about getting home. Get on the train. Build the kinder surprise toy. Get to Lufthansa desk. Cheapest flight to get home tonight to Stockholm? 900 Euros. Eat. A. Dick. Last minute flight people? A little bit cheaper, but needlessly tricky. (Could you spend the night in Amsterdam? And leave super early next day? Eat a dick. Again). Internet ourselves. SAS website. Can get significantly cheaper flights back to Stockholm tonight. Yes please. Website is a dick. Flights disappear. Finally. 6.30pm flight to Copenhagen, then straight on to Stockholm. Sweeeeeet. Let’s kill four hours and hate ourselves. Ooh, food. Supermarket. Food. Kahlua. Find a sweeeeeet spot on the airport floor. Boooorrrred. Wait. Supermarket. Milk. Kahlua. Bathroom. Concoct. Airport floor. Time machine. Check in already? (Mum, if anything, be happy with my inventiveness).
Why catch your flight home when you can look at these super cool apples?
Duty free, then runway, then fog delays, then Copenhagen, then straight on to next plain, then Arlanda. Fairy lights, beautiful people, the 801 to Uppsala. We’re home. Well not yet. Sexa (after party) at Kalmar? Sure, now we’re home. We did it. We got out of Uppsala. Now let us never speak of it again.
Hooooooooooooooome
