Teacher Tales

Normal for Guernsey- 01-08-24 to 04-08-24

Propellor planes are much louder than you think they'd be. They growl on take off and grunt throughout the journey like a wildebeest. Thankfully, the ears stop working fairly quickly on Aurigny planes and this must be to do with the pressure change. 

I will soon be home or at least my summer home of the UK and more precisely, Loughborough. Another flight, albeit a short one and my carbon footprint doesn't improve. 

So what of my destination, my journey to Guernsey? Well, it was thoroughly delightful. The plan was to visit my sister, who has been working on this small island for a year and indeed that is what happened, although my sister is leaving Guernsey later in the month to resettle in Burton on Trent: now, aesthetically, it would be hard to make a case for that decision as Guernsey is a stunning location but Emma has her reasons and 'love' is the main one so I can't fault that.

We left around midday about three days ago and there were no hold ups at East Midlands. Emma and I were straight into the deep discussions and the banter and the 'what is happiness?' philosophy over a couple of beers at the airport. 

The flight was by propellor plane as aforementioned but was short. Though it was a cloudy day, they sometimes slipped aside to allow me a quick peak down on to the islands we flew over, surprisingly, a lot more than I had thought; though many were very small.

The bus service at Guernsey airport was efficient and within twenty minutes (apparently everywhere is twenty minutes away in Guernsey) we were in St Peter's Port. We dropped our stuff at Emma's flat, which was all but cleared out ready for move with only boxes and bits randomly strewn waiting to be re-housed. It was a quick, in, drop and leave experience and Emma was soon driving us around Guernsey's roads in her beaten up old Audi.

The roads are quite comical with yellow arrows sometimes painted on the road and pointing towards you as if you are going the wrong way down a one way street. Emma says that this and the sign reminds you to stop if you see a red light, is NFG or Normal for Guernsay, a saying I became used to as we travelled. 

We stopped first at The Little Church which was constructed originally in 1914 by a monk who wanted to educate your boys. The church itself is beautiful and unique  and though small is slightly larger than you at first think as it is on two levels. From the road, it sits on a slightly elevated mound and sparkles in the sunlight or shimmers through the rain with all manner of colours. The house made of sweets from Hansel and Gretel was the first thing that sprung to my mind when I saw it. As you approach the entrance, you realise that the course and it's unique appearance is created through the use of random pieces of old pottery which is used almost in the style of a mosaic both outside and inside the church. It is a charming place and well worth a visit.

From here Emma took us to a beautiful where she has often swum though we weren't doing that on this particular occasion. It was pretty with some swimmers, small boats bobbing out at sea and rugged rocky outcrops, not high or dramatic but cute and almost miniature. We walked around the bay and chatted about all manner of rubbish but it was a lot of fun to catch up.

We headed back to Emma’s apartment to change before walking into St Peter’s Port and stopping for a drink and then a quality meal in a posh restaurant where we both ordered fish dishes and shared them after a great melted camembert dish. We even indulged in some Irish coffees. After the meal, we stopped at a lovely pub called the Albion for a wine and a whisky. The chat was flowing and there was a pleasant quiet atmosphere in this pub. The waitress was a lot of fun and it was cool that she even knew my parents, who had visited Emma a couple of times throughout the year. 

We reached Emma’s home after midnight, enjoyed a further whisky and finally got some rest. We had forgotten to pump the airbed up but thankfully, it was a top notch bed and pump and within seconds I had a very comfortable cot to sleep on and sleep, I very much did. 

We enjoyed granola and yoghurt for brekkie as Emma was hoping to get through the leftovers she had in her fridge. Striding out into the open air was wonderful as the sun was beaming and the temperature, delightful. Emma had decided it was a great idea to head over to Herm. Herm is one of the Channel Islands and part of the Parish of St Peter Port in the Bailiwick of Guernsey. It is located in the English Channel, north-west of France and south of England. It is 2,183 m long and under 873 metres wide; oriented north–south, with several stretches of sand along its northern coast. There are no cars on the island and a population of 60.

The boat ride across was around about 30 minutes and we were very happy to be sitting on the top of the boat in the open and under the warmth of the sunshine. The announcer stopped at one point to ask us to sing Happy Birthday to one of the passengers and it was a lovely human moment.

Emma and i strolled around the entire coastline of Herm which is only three miles miles so perhaps not as impressive as it sounds. The views as you rise and fall along the coastline are spectacular and the weather was stunning- warm and bright throughout. I was mightily impressed by the birds and on one occasion we both stood for quite some time looking at a gull who balanced itself in the eddies of the wind, seeming to float effortlessly, despite the gusts.

Emma took us down into a beautiful bay, which was quiet and enclosed with a rocky outcrop. We decided we would swim and Emma, having changed (more on that story later) into her swimming costume. Like me, Emma is a jump in and think later kind of swimmer and she ran into the cool waters. I raced on immediately afterwards making a variety of shudder noises and blowing out of cheek accompaniment but in truth, after a few moments the water was the perfect temperature and Emma and I swam for 15 minutes or so, marvelling at the posh yachts further out and wondering at the bravery of the young tombstoners who leapt with gay abandon into the rippling sea.

After we swam, Emma had to go through the challenge of changing without being seen and we remembered the amazing episode of Mr Bean, where he proved the point that no-one sees a 'British nob' on the beach- if you know what I mean. Not that Emma has a nob! Anyway, we also chatted about how difficult it is for women (was going to say hard but the semantic field would be contrived at best) and how men just leap in, even in their pants and dry off. we also discussed whether getting your boobs out counted as indecent exposure and thankfully, and rightly, it isn't. We checked on google!

We strolled further along the coastline and dropped down into Shell Bay, where we sat down and enjoyed a beer and a sandwich at the Mermaid Tavern: lovely place and a great view from here. Emma kept talking about rouge (a beautiful wine bar with artisan cheeses and cold cuts) and eventually pulled out a letter from my parents to be opened in Rouge. She had become anxious that we might not get there and so I should open it there at Shell beach. I declined and said, well let's go to Rouge. 

So we embarked on the final part of the 3 mile walk and took the boat back to Guernsey. We walked to Rouge and enjoyed some fabulous wine and some great cheeses, one of which was local and another one was, without doubt, the best blue cheese I have ever eaten. The note from mum and dad was so kind and heart warming and spoke of their pride in me. From here we nipped back to Emma's, changed and headed out to the castle at Guernsey for the last night of the Castle night events, where bands play and everyone can bring their own food and beverages. 

Castle Cornet is 800 years old and a beautiful place to stroll around, with different levels and lawns and with outstanding views over St Peter’s Port harbour and the sea itself. Emma and I had brought a bottle of wine and some nibbles and we sat down with her friends Alison and Mark for some banter, food and to sing along with the excellent band who played some 90s classic including Blur and Pulp. The atmosphere was lovely, the sun was beaming and there was a real feeling of fun. 

The final band of the night was excellent and wrote their own songs, (a sort of Energy Orchard vibe- check them out!) and at one point towards the finale, they invited on to stage a very adept fiddle player who gave them another dimension. They played the national anthem of Guernsey at the end and it was a rip-roaring frolicsome dance number with layered rhythms and the lead vocals  breaking out to  jump around in the crowd and strum at the same time. It was one of those moments that will stay with me for a long time. Very uplifting and not like the original national anthem, which I have heard on Youtube since.

The lovely and very knowledgeable Alison took us to a delightful and posh restaurant outside of town for a few last beers of the night and I had a great chat with her, learning about the legendary guernsey milk and butter (custard colour yellow) Emma had a more stressful conversation with Mark and he walked off in a huff. None of my business really. We walked home and thankfully, this time, it was downhill all the way. In truth, I didn’t fancy the Clifton Steps again (561 steps) and I noticed on  my step counter that I had done over 28000 steps which was a new record and more than my day on Scafell Pike.

I enjoyed a final whisky at Emma’s- she had Japanese and it was mighty fine. I certainly slept well after consuming that. 

The next morning was grim…grey, cloudy and full of that British style sense of weather-doom: when you just know the whole day is a ‘right off’. That said, the stalwart Alison, whom I had met the previous night, would, as a Guernsey resident, be remonstrating with me quite vociferously for such a comment. After all, Guernsey isn’t really British, as such but is actually a Bailiwick and not even a country. It’s complicated. Look it up, if you’re interested. 

Emma and I drove out to through the ghostlike mist which hung ominously over the coastline. The experience was almost ethereal and was perfectly fitting for the experience that Emma had in mind: visiting some of the second world war german fortifications. They are bit like British pill boxes but they are on several levels and are quite formidable. Apparently, by 1944 Guernsey's coastline was covered in concrete fortifications. Hundreds of reinforced bunkers, gun emplacements and tunnels were constructed, transforming the tiny archipelago into the most fortified place on earth. Inside this particular bunker we were able to climb the frightening stairs, with no handrails and some serious risk of falling. At the highest level there was a rope which initially looked like a noose but on closer inspection, was just a means of reaching the roof. I looked out through the gun slit of the highest point at the sea, with the mist now sitting a little higher, hovering above the salt water waves, and imagined what it might have been like for a german manning that station in world war two. The answer: boring I suppose and they were probably very happy with that. It must have been better than being posted to the Eastern front.

As usual, I had not come prepared for the weather, with my bright floral malaysian shorts on and a pair of shorts made of a material wholly ineffective for dealing with the rain. Thankfully, and with right brained genius, I took a blanket from the back of Emma’s car and walked along the coastline wrapped inside it. I was dry but looked ridiculous, as usual. 

The rain worsened a little but thankfully Emma had booked us in for lunch at Cobo Tearooms, a well known and excellent small cafe overlooking the stunning Cobo bay. Here we tried Beanjar, a local delicacy, which was basically bean stew, with some shredded meats (I have no idea what- could have been dog for all I knew, or cared). We also ordered a lemon cake, which was moist, sour, sweet and soft, filled with cream and one portion was enough to feed three comfortably. Here, I tried the frankly average butter that is coloured like one of the characters from The Simpsons. Nevertheless, it was a fab way to spend an hour or so, even if the weather outside hadn’t improved at all. 

Emma and I braved the rocky headland for a while and experienced some interesting historical fortifications as well as the beach, which was empty and therefore atmospheric. In the mood for more atmosphere Emma drive us to Dehus Dolmen (also known as Le Déhus), around half a kilometre north of Bordeaux Harbour. This is a large multi-chambered tomb beneath a grassy mound with standing stones around the edge (some of the edge stones are replacements, but others are original). Artefacts from around 3500-2000 BCE have been found here.

There was a Scandinavian family leaving the tombs as we entered and Emma tried to show them the famous carvings inside of the bearded man. Later she realised she had told them wrongly and the family found it on the stone roof above. It is faint but clear enough if you look closely. We enjoyed a little banter with the family and moved on.

We walked a lot more across the beach, after the visit to Dehus Dolmen and I joked about having still not had a beer, which catapulted us into a conversation about our dependence on alcohol. We discussed the pros, the socialising, the fun, the experiences and even the great ideas that have come out of alcohol and how no tea, or fruit juice has been invented that keeps people in one space chatting for hours and hours. Then, I thought of some of the Malay muslims out for the evening and realised that my opinion was total bollocks and simply part of my cultural apologising. I still drink but we discussed the pros of reducing or even stopping drinking, mainly coming from Emma’s relationship with Marika, who drinks very little. We spoke of the pressure put upon non-drinkers and the crutch that it becomes for so many of us. 

It was a deep and a long conversation but the rain was holding off and the views were amazing. Afterwards, we stopped back at The Albion in St Peters Port for a beer! Here the conversation turned to religion and mostly, whether people who say they believe in the ‘old school’ view of a fiery hell with people burning forever, actually do. I mean they say they do but they still sin and the like. If they could see a field with a multitude of suffering sinners in flames, screaming in an agony unthinkable but not dying and then that person was told that they would be going to that for eternity, with no hope of escape, if they sinned or indeed did anything you told them they shouldn’t, I think they might fall into line pretty quickly. In my view, they don’t really have faith that such a place exists.

The mood lightened as we trudged off to the Indian restaurant with 23000 steps showing up on my step counter. The meal took a reassuringly long time and the quality was excellent; so too, the service. I drank water this time. Haha. We had one wine on the way home and headed back at around 9.00am as I had a flight first thing in the morning and had to be up at 4.30pm.

Emma was good to me and dropped me off- though her goodness truly shone through as we drove passed a young girl, scantily clad, crying and make-up smeared down her face, in the rain and looking very distressed indeed. We were right next to the airport so Emma dropped me off and picked the girl up on the way back. Apparently, she was very, very drunk, had no phone, no purse and was slurring her words quite dramatically. Emma took her into St Peter’s Port and dropped her on a bus, explaining to the driver where she needed to get to. That is apparently also normal for Guernsey. 

Stockholm Sweden- 17-07-23

Day 1

It felt strange to be driving back to Manchester to board another plane, only a matter of weeks since returning from Malaysia and I have to confess to not really fancying the journey at all. Kyle was obviously excited and for him, it had been a few years since he had last been on a plane. As we drove in the relatively early hours of the morning to our pre-booked car parking space, I found that his excitement, fuelled by research about the treats that Stockholm had in store, began to rub off on me and by the time we were at the airport awaiting our flight, I had managed to extinguish my apathy and the internal giddy child that normally accompanies every trip I go on, had returned. 

The flight to Stockholm is about 2 and a half hours and it was clear that Kyle was a little, though certainly not uncontrollably nervous when we took off or later, when we hit a patch of turbulence. He handled himself well enough and his mild anxiety disappeared once we were above Sweden (a place, like most of Scandinavia, Kyle has often wanted to visit) which from above was astounding: a huge expanse of land, trees, hills and natural beauty- and islands everywhere the eye could see. There was a Canadian woman sitting in the seat in front of us who caught our busy conversation about the wonders below and she added to our delight by ‘waxing’ lyrical about Stockholm, a place she had lived in for over ten years. She spoke of the ‘right to roam’ and how huge swathes of the land could not be owned. 

We landed with our spirits high and the touchdown was near perfect, to Kyle’s relief.  

Arlanda airport is a world away from Manchester and we were immediately impressed by the smiles of staff, the efficiency of service and the general positivity. Even the posters on the wall were of women holding glossy organic vegetables and standing in paradise or of children licking ice cream. In contrast Manchester airport’s sign were a series of imperatives, all assuming bad behaviour such as ‘Don’t smoke’, ‘don’t be rude to our staff’, ‘don’t accept slavery’. Whether such posters are needed or not, I don’t know, but at Arlanda airport, it was taken as a given that people would behave well, and they did.

We bought a ticket for the Arlanda express which took us into the city centre and though it took us a short while to work out the machine that deposited the ticket, it was easy enough. The express train leaves every 15 minutes and is clean and fast. The staff member who checked our tickets was happy, smiling and welcoming. 

We stopped at Stockholm train station for a beer and a moment of calm after the journey. Kyle received a call whilst we were there from a head hunted who had seen his CV online. It was great to see him smile and feel wanted. 

After beers we walked the mile and a bit to the digs; dragging our cases and our carcasses, as we went. It was less than two miles but exhausting with the luggage in tow and after the long journey. Initially there was confusion when we arrived at the hotel to find the door locked and a staircase, beyond a slightly grimy window. There was a bell to ring but no one answered and we were contemplating our next action, when a guest opened the door from within and we took the opportunity to sneak in. The place looked rough and we walked up the staircase to a formidable looking wooden tour, like something from a viking hall. Luckily, they responded to the bell this time and the door opened to reveal a pleasant reception, out of odds with the exterior and a lovely eating area. 

The lady on reception was delightful, pleasant and very helpful. She showed us to our rooms which were more than acceptable and we all had a short lie down to recover. It was a relief to finally put the bags down.

After a short rest we walked and crossed the bridge to the old town of Gamla Stan. This part of the city is the original centre and consists of Stadsholmen island and the islets of Riddarholmen, Helgeandsholmen and Strömsborg. 

The old town dates from the 13th century but most buildings are from the 1600s and 1700s. It is a glorious labyrinth of charming cobbled streets, alleyways, faded mustard and rust-coloured townhouses and meeting squares. Before making our way through the narrow alleys, we wondered at the water, the islands in the distance and the myriad of different boats and floating vessels moored at the water’s edge or sailing along the blue. 

We made our way past some proud looking statues including the proud one of Gustav the third which dominates the square outside the cathedral. It was a peaceful and pleasant stroll past the shops, coffee houses and restaurants, through to the courtyard of the baroque royal palace, Kungliga Slottet, where guards stood ominously in their blue uniforms and wearing very spiky helmets.

We weren’t sure if this was a private area as it was so quiet, but I gingerly pushed on and Kyle and Rach soon followed. The courtyard opened up into an area by a church with a small hill leading back to the water. Here there were many photographs of the president of Sweden present at a recent celebration. We marvelled at the pictures that showed the aforesaid leader mingling casually with hundreds of locals and even dancing with his wife in the middle of the adoring throng. There were no signs of guards or security.

From here, we walked through another small alleyway which opened out on to Stortorget,  the beautiful main square with its expensive but quirky restaurants and narrow, tall germanic medieval buildings with their pastel colours and old timber window frames. We had an incredibly expensive round of drinks here, sitting opposite the North facing Nobel Prize museum. It was lovely to watch the world go by from such an interesting location. Whilst we were sitting, an old style fire engine drove through the square passing the natural spring water fountain. We wondered for a minute if they were coming to fill up but they simply drove on through, casual as you like.

Stortorget used to be the political heart of town until 1732, when the city hall was moved to the Bondeska Palace. In 1520, it witnessed a large execution as the Danish conqueror Kristian II had 82 Swedish dignitaries arrested and beheaded at Stortorget (all those who had opposed his rule). We had no idea as we sat sipping wine. How times change.

The Royal Cathedral of Sweden, the Storkyrkan, is the oldest church in Gamla Stan, first built as a chapel in the 12th century. It was rebuilt as a basilica after a fire destroyed it in the 14th century, and has since gone through several changes and reconstructions. The exterior is a fine example of the Baroque style, whereas the interiors are done in a Gothic style. Perhaps most startling to me was the pink exterior which made it stand out and seemed to contrast oddly with the statue of St George and the Dragon which stands in the grounds of the church.

The Nobel Museum (Nobelmuseet in Swedish) dedicates itself, as the name indicates, to displaying the work of Nobel laureates. The acceptance speeches of the various laureates can be heard, including Martin Luther King Jr’s speech. Attached is a bookstore with biographies about the Nobel laureates, as well as books written by winners of the Nobel Prize for Literature.

Once the scene of a bloodbath, the charming square of Stortorget is now frequented by tourists for its quaint and colourful buildings. Stortorget used to be the political heart of town until 1732, when the city hall was moved to the Bondeska Palace. In 1520, it witnessed a large execution as the Danish conqueror Kristian II had 82 Swedish dignitaries arrested and beheaded at Stortorget (all those who had opposed his rule). There was no sign of blood on this occasion, just a range of tourist folk enjoying their fika (cinnamon and coffee).

Gamla Stan is exceptionally clean, almost impossibly so for such a busy tourist area and it is clear that the council and the people of Sweden take care of the area very well indeed. 

We wandered through the clean, busy streets in search of restaurant and found a quaint place on one of the many narrow streets. It had the exterior of a sweet shop from the 1950s and single pain windows in large green frames. Inside, the walls were a boring white but the chandeliers were made out of stags' horns and there were old framed paintings on the walls of swedish grandmothers sitting contemplatively on robust wooden chairs built to withstand the rigours of time and certainly not for comfort. The waiter was efficient and pleasant, if a little cursory and we were very much left to our own devices, save the food that arrived promptly and without fuss.  Like most places, swedish meatballs were on offer and when in Rome (or Stockholm in this case) you have to try them. They were delicious- soft, moist, flavoursome and in a creamy, onion gravy that was far tastier than it sounds. The mash it was served with was only slightly worse than mine (and my mash is perhaps my finest feature- ha ha). There was a sweetness to the sauce, from the lingonberries which all of my culinary knowledge told me shouldn’t work but it did.

We strolled home after a good feed and slept well at the digs. It had been a long day.

Day 2 18-07-23- A magnificent ship!

After breakfast, which was delicious and consisted of lots of wonderful pastries, good coffee, yoghurt and fruits, we walked back across the bridge to Gamla Stan but this time strolled along the water in search of a boat called the Ostana 1, which we had booked online and which was built in 1906. It take us too long to find although we did need to take a tram. 

The trip began at the Stranvagen and took us gently through some of Stockholm's archipelago, which is the second largest in the Baltic sea. 

The interior of the boat was decadent and polished with a veneer of tradition and sturdiness. There was a bar inside and one could order sandwiches and the like, should they wish. We inially opted for a seat outside on the side of the boat, where we could watch the many islands glide by or catch a glimpse of the natural wildlife that inhabit this area.

Rach and I have been on many boat rides if late including trips in Langkawi and Phi phi and this was perhaps less dramatic with fewer monkeys. However, it was a at kspheric way to see the country and witness the range of housing including some hastily erected wooden huts that sat happily upon some of the smaller islands.

More dramatic was the site of one of Bjorn Borg's mansions! Impressive. We saw a stunning bridge that crossed from one island to another that was built of stone and looked medieval but I think what I enjoyed most about the trip was the slow pace and the time to relax and think and watch.

Halfway through the two and a half hour ride, we popped inside and bought a beer. It was quite an experience to gently rock along the water inside the inner cabin of such an old boat.

Once we arrived back on land, we had the brief moment of Jack Sparrow legs, where land somehow feels less secure than sea but we recovered soon enough and stopped at a restaurant that sold just about everything and which was placed overlooking the water and at the base of a bridge which crossed over to the island of Djujarden, a beautiful but small piece of land blessed with gorgeous gardens, a small harbour and wonderful museums. The pizza we had was decent and expensive but it was lovely to get a beer down us (Kyle had a coke).

From here we walked across the bridge and strolled to the Vasa museum. This was a major highlight of our time in Stockholm and surprisingly so as I knew very little to nothing about its contents. The museum is simply a one artifact museum- that of a almost completely intact 17th century war ship, and one of the largest ever made.

You enter the museum and are smacked in the face immediately by the vastness of the ship, which is 69 metres long and more than 50 metres tall. It weighs 1200 tonnes and was fitted with ten sails and 64 cannons.  It is formidable to behold (but more on that story later) You enter at level two which would have been just above the water level, if the vessel was out at sea but you can walk down below and indeed right to the top of the fifty metres, where you can look down upon the upper deck. The place is dark inside; dark and brooding adding an eerie feeling of ghosts and age which really works (although the lack of light is a measure to help preserve the original wood, which makes up almost the entirety of what remains). 

Most striking is the decorative qualities with sculptures of kings, of battles and of beautiful mermaids adorning the exterior, and even what looks like a royal balcony built on to one of its sides. It is a tour de force. A staggering achievement and no doubt The Lion of the North, Gustav the second must have been proud when it was completed.

However, the irony of this trip is a lesson to all engineers that beauty and exterior beauty must never supercede intelligent design. On its maiden voyage in 1628, it travelled no further than

1,300 metres. Within minutes, the ship was lying on the sea bed 32 metres below. Thousands of Stockholm´s inhabitants witnessed the tragic scene, together with several foreign ambassadors. What began in hope and ambition ended in tragedy.

We left the museum shaking our heads at the wonder and mostly the tragic story. It was beautifully sunny and it was hard to not stop at a pop up craft beer tent only a few metres from the exit of the Vasa but Kyle isn’t a drinker and he was keen to see more of Stockholm.  

We took a bus back towards Gamla Stan and then walked back towards an area we were more familiar with. Kyle was keen to pop to another museum and was disappointed when Rach was too tired to go on but dutifully we headed back and rested at the digs. 

I took a stroll to the higher point above the city and took some great photos including some of a very gothic church that was completely black. Afterwards, I stopped for a cheeky and surprisingly cheap beer next door to the hotel. 

In the evening we wandered into the old town and ate at a  very expensive and posh place that specialised in whiskies- one of which, Rach enjoyed. We had looked around for a more suitable place to eat, one of which I had found online but there was a long queue outside and the centre was super busy, in general.The food in our posh place was very tasty and outside there was a model of a stag in a gentleman’s suit. How odd. We had some excellent conversation about our time on the boat and of course the wonder of the vasa. It had been a great day and we returned to the digs feeling very happy.

Stockholm Day 3- 19-07-23

We had another nutritious and pleasant breakfast before heading back to Djujarden. The weather was warm but not oppressive and we were keen to see the Viking museum which stands in picturesque grounds not far from the Vasa museum. It is hard not to compare this place to the Jorvik viking centre as we had visited York's famous museum when the kids were young. Although my memories of that impressive museum are sketchy, to say the least, I do feel that this Viking museum on the island of Djujarden is equally its match, if not more impressive. 

The steps into the museum seize your interest immediately as each one has a date on it that takes you on a journey back from the present to the viking era. The top step says something like 870 AD, I think and it is as if you have been sucked into the world of the vikings. Inside there are many outstanding artifacts from the times, such as goblets, clothing, weapons and the like but also some recreations of houses and vikings halls as well as places where you can sit by the fire and wear a viking crown for a photograph. Despite this, it is rather tastefully done and we wandered the interior for a long time reading a lot of the literature on the wall displays. 

Once you reach what you think is the end of this fascinating place you are led to a ride which is also reminiscent of Jorvik but this is very different and a lot less smelly! Indeed, it is more of an immersive recorded drama experience. You are taking from diorama to diorama, each with a voiceover, a video or sound effects that hit your ears via surround sound. The story is of brothers who went on a viking quest and is a little like the saga of Ragnar Lothbrook. The lighting, the timing (including an arrow that seems to fly through the air and hit a tree at one point, but obviously didn’t) and the experience of moving through the ages in the car, really blend well and I was captivated by the whole experience. 

We left the Viking museum having felt like we had learnt a lot.

From here we made our way back to Gamla Stan for fika, which is a swedish custom and Kyle thoroughly enjoyed it. It is basically damn good coffee and a cinnamon bun and it was certainly available in almost every coffee place in sight. 

It was our last day, so in typical traditional style, we went shopping and Kyle bought himself a nice Stockholm shirt to tattoo the moment and the experience. Rach enjoyed the shopping too but headed home a little earlier than Kyle and I, who walked into the more commercial sector of the town, which was an interesting contrast to the old buildings of Gamla Stan. 

In the evening we had food at the digs, having spent at least thirty minutes in the supermarket deciding what to buy. Nevertheless, we knocked up some decent grub, enjoyed a beer or two and hit the sack as we had a very early flight in the morning. 

Stockholm had been expensive, eye-opening-picturesque, historical, ordered and clean. I will never forget this place.