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.
Göteboring? Hardly
As I’ve mentioned previously, I’ve been pretty much stranded in Sweden, still waiting for this goddamned residency permit. But stranded in Sweden doesn’t mean stuck in Uppsala, so the first weekend of August I got out and about and headed down to Gothenburg (Göteborg). I jumped on a train to Stockholm bright and early (1pm), nervously checking and re-checking my train tickets to make sure I was indeed en route to the right city. This was to be my first trip on my own. Weak effort, I know, but it was a big deal for me, and the idea of having to motivate myself to get out and explore a new place all alone was freaking me out slightly (I’m the first to admit I’m lazy as hell). At Stockholm Central Station I sat on the ground, watching little kids be hilariously adorable and I realised that this is getting to be a creepy habit (See: the time Lloyd and I watched the kids in a ball pit on a cruise ship for far too long). On the next train I downed painkillers, pringles and coke (hangover be gone!), and enjoyed awesome tunes whilst the scenery whizzed by. Four hours later I was in Gothenburg…
Sun setting over Rosenlundskanalen. Pretty n shit, eh?
I couldn’t be arsed trying to find a map, so I walked around trying to find the tram stop to get to my hostel, whilst getting kinda excited about being in a new city. New city disorientation is definitely my favourite kind of disorientation. The right tram pulled up, I jumped on and had to employ great self-restraint to stop myself mashing my face against the glass whilst I tried to look at everything. Once again Swedish public transport proved a winner, with each upcoming stop displayed on a screen, so I alighted with no dramas, checked the directions from the hostel website, and promptly started walking in the exact opposite direction of where I needed to go. I have to start trusting my own gut instinct, because I usually have a pretty good sense of direction, but I’m too easily persuaded that others are right. I circled one block, doubled back, found the right street, walked the wrong way, walked two blocks back and eventually bumped into the hostel. Dickhead. It was located in an area called Linnestaden, which reminded me of Fitzroy, and was near a huge park, Slottskogen. After checking in, I went a-wanderin’. I found Andra Långgatan and immediately understood why I’d been told to go there; if Gertrude or Smith Streets had a smaller, Swedish cousin, this would be it. It was a balmy Saturday night and effortlessly cool Swedes were out in force, bar-hopping and making me feel ridiculously daggy (not hard) and ronery. Thanks, guys. Pressing on I made my way to Rosenlundskanalen, a canal/former moat-type thing, which runs next to a park, Kungsparken. It reminded me of the Yarra running next to the Botanic Gardens back home and I felt a little homesick. I walked in the direction of Göta älv, the major river, taking random streets that looked like they might have something cool, or food. Staaaaarving. Eventually I found myself at the giant ferris wheel thing on the water’s edge and, looking at my map, realised I’d walked a lot further than I thought.
A grand salute to the bastard who kept me awake all night
More aimless wandering took me away from the centre, back through Vasastaden and somehow I was back near my hostel, still with a very empty stomach. Back down to Andra Långgatan to check out the numerous Thai restaurants I’d passed earlier I found one that was still open and parked my arse. Earlier in the evening I’d passed a guy eating on his own who seemed so stupidly cool and relaxed, so I tried to emulate him, but I am not good company and quickly grew bored of myself. Luckily my pad thai arrived before I stabbed myself with a fork for the purposes of entertainment, and was able to kill another 30 minutes ingesting my not-as-disappointing-as-I-thought-it’d-be food. As I’d had a Pretty Big Night the previous evening I was able to fall asleep pretty easily around midnight, but next thing the Brazilian guy got back and proceeded to snore at a volume I didn’t think possible. Know that my ability to tolerate even mild snoring is virtually non-existent, so this was hell for me. I was listening to music to drown it out, but it was at a volume that made sleep impossible. I think my 5am facebook update probably best encapsulates my frustrations:
Around 7am I discovered Interpol’s Untitled worked best to drown out the bastard and next thing it was midday and everyone else had left. Ahhhhhhhh. Ok, shit, it’s another day. What now?
Masthuggskyrkan. Pretty sweet view from up here.
Armed with my list of places to go and a map, I walked and I walked and I walked. First up to Masthuggskyrkan, a church that sits high up and has an amazing view into the city and out to the mouth of the river. There was a 9 year old with an SLR. I was somewhat concerned and amused. Amerned? Concused? I moseyed back down towards the town, over to the Haga district, which is supposed to be noteworthy for having really old, wooden houses and being pretty. It was alright. I dunno. There were loads of couples and tourists who looked significantly richer than me sitting in all the cafes, so I just walked on by. A couple of guys asked me for directions to Maccas, so I was sort of pleased to be mistaken for a local. Back in the centre I’d planned to do a Paddan boat tour, but it was too windy or something, so instead I ended up checking out Scandinavia’s largest shopping centre, Nordstan. I call bullshit. More aimless wandering. The weather was shitting me, so I went back to the hostel. I met a guy there from Melbourne, so I showed him around for a bit and then we dinner’d and spent faaar too much money. Beer + painkillers + valerian + earplugs meant that I slept like a non-murderous log that night.
Oh hey there, ominous skies over Vrångö. I’m going to go take shelter in that pine shed now.
Monday the sky was blue, Systemet was open and I wasn’t shitty on the world, so it seemed like a perfect day to check out the southern archipelago. Armed with a bag of ciders, pringles and my bathers, I jumped on a ferry, unsure about which islands to check out, but certain I didn’t want to go wherever that massive pack of old ladies was going. Then the clouds came. And I had a cheeky doze. So I ended up at the end of the line, Vrångö. As I stepped off the ferry, I quickly realised that I was the youngest person who’d made the journey, and that, also, it was about to start pissing down. I did my own little 20 minute walking tour just as the heavens opened. I still had 45minutes before the ferry would be back and I really didn’t want to sit in the “pub” by myself, so instead I sat in the ultra pine-y shelter by the water, drinking cider, mildly hating the world. I just about sprinted aboard when the ferry came back. Making my way back into town the sun came back out. Godfuckingdamn. I plonked my arse down in the park, laughing at joggers, boot camps and, of course, children. Man, I’m getting creepy. That night I went barhopping with the Aussie guy (Manny, I think?) and some people he’d met in Stockholm. They were alright. The price of beer was not. I bailed relatively early. Such a party animal.
Två tumnar upp för Vrångö? Yeah, right.
Last day. I was kinda happy to be heading home that night, but not before I saw the city from the canals! I bought my Paddan tour ticket, jumped into the sightseeing boat and got my tourist on. It was actually really interesting and we had to lie on the floor going under one of the bridges. That was cool, although I was a little worried about my arse getting stuck. Ohhh and there was building that was sinking. Yep. I killed my final few hours sitting in parks and shopping. There are definitely better ways I could have spent that time, but I’d had enough touristing. Actually, I should have gone to Liseberg, the amusement park. Ah well, maybe later. On the train home I watched the countryside fill up with fog. Shit, summer is definitely on the way out.
For once it’s not just my shitty photo-taking! Sinky building!
So yeah. That was my first trip alone. Dunno if I liked being solo that much. Gothenburg was awesome, but, honestly, would have been better if I was with other people. But, hey, it was a good experience. And it got me out of Uppsala for a bit. Seven thumbs up (in a good way).
