Another of these meetings. I actually tried to get out of this one - said I could suggest more appropriate people. It seemed like such a long way to travel in order to speak for 20 minutes when a quarter of the audience would be out jolling, a quarter would be reading their emails, a quarter would be distracted or asleep, leaving only a quarter to actually hear what you would be saying - seemed like madness. The people I suggested turned out to be unavailable, so the organisers came back to me and asked again, said they'd pay, etc. Okay, I didn't need that much persuading, I confess.
Tuesday
I flew SAA again - it is the only airline left whose lounges I can still use, and even theirs only in SA.The flight left on a Tuesday evening, so I went from work - herself kindly agreed to pick me up and drop me off - long term parking has become exorbitant, and anyway, the first princess now requires the car, so leaving it idle at the airport for a week wasn't an option. I was impossibly early, but managed to check in and found my way to the business lounge where I made some good progress with a Heineken and then a glass of some or other Merlot I had never heard of while I waded through emails and sundry admin junk on the laptop.
Eventually we boarded and I found my seat which was well back, and next to a right hand window. It was a perfect late summer evening and I was looking forward to seeing the Atlantic Coast as we overflew it, something I had missed on the Berlin trip being on the wrong side of the plane. Sod's law - tonight the pilot decided to do a tight turn and head north over Constantia, Newlands etc, east of Devil's Peak, so all I saw was a lot of Cape Flats and a fair amount of dark sky. And then we had climbed into the high cloud and Cape Town was behind us. I settled down to my book ("The Promise" by Keith Ward - a retelling of the stories contined in the Pentateuch, up to Moses' death - I was eager to see whether he could make any more sense of it than I had managed) and wondered what they would conjure up to torture us with at dinner time. The plane was an Airbus A340, which only has TV's in the centre aisle, and even then not very often - pity because the film was The King's Speech, which I haven't seen, and I would have enjoyed watching it, but it was too much effort.
Dinner arrived - for once it was not "chicken or beef", but "lamb or fish" - someone must have said something to them! It was edible - what more can I say. I had another Heineken and dreamed of Old Blighty. I was really tired, so as soon as they had collected the dishes, I kicked back and fell asleep, to wake around 3 or something ghastly with a throat that felt and tasted like a camel's backside, and a headache. I needed water, but had neither the energy to get past the rather large lady hemming me in, nor to summon the hostess. Like a fool I suffered in silence and eventually drifted off again. The person controlling the cabin temperature seemed to have a strange sense of humour - to start with it was low, and both I and the lady next to me opened our blanket packs and disappeared under a spread of red. Sometime during the night I woke up sweating and had to throw everything off - well not everything you understand - just the blanket and my sweater. I guess someone had complained they were freezing so they decided to cook us instead. I know from running courses that the one things you can never get consensus on is optimum temperature.
Wednesday
We were early landing at Heathrow, so they put us into a holding pattern briefly. These can be quite fun if the weather is good - they sometimes do flips over Westminster - but that day all was cloud and it was barely light, so we saw nothing. Eventually we got our wheels down and the big bird safely parked at the Terminal. The captain announced proudly that, oweing to the mist, we had landed on autopilot - look ma, no hands. I wasn't sure whether we were supposed to cheer, or find that comforting. I guess they do this sort of thing all the time - it still seems a little odd to me though. At security I whipped out the trusty UK passport, my late father's greatest gift to his offspring, and was virtually waved through. Various buses and elevators later, I arrived at Terminal 3, where I had to do the X-ray thing, putting the toothpaste in the plastic bag and so on - you would think I'd remember by now, but I never do, probably because I don't understand why it is necessary (like why you have to take your laptop out of the bag).
My connecting flight (SAS) was delayed an hour, so I had the immense pleasure of spending about 3 hours milling around Terminal 3 before they put up the information regarding which gate to proceed to. I can tell you with a certain amount of authority that London Heathrow Terminal 3 has very little to recommend it. The most exciting thing I found was the Starbucks. Thank God for Starbucks! I had two Latte Vente's (that's the biggest dude). Had to change 20 US dollars for pounds, which cost me GBP1.50 in commission, the sods.
The SAS plane was a Douglas, I think. I had seat 33A, which sounded good, but turned out to be the very last seat on the left, and the "view" was non existent, oweing to the large engine which was right outside (the twin jet are either side of the tail section, rather than on the wings). See pic.
Fortunately, the air-steward took pity on me and said I could move to another seat - the plane wasn't full. I just wondered why they bother having a seat there - it is hell-on noisy as well. So it turned out I didn't see much, but as it was cloudy just about all the way to Stockholm, I don't think I missed much. Just like to see where I am going. Our pilot was a chatty fellow, but as most of what he said was in Swedish (presumably), his banter didn't make much impression on me. It was one of those monologues which goes on for about 5 minutes in the other language, and then breaks into a broken English translation which lasts all of 20 seconds - you always wonder exactly what got lost and left behind in translation.
We were informed that due to the wind we would have to go over Stockholm, turn around and then land from the other side, which is precisely what happened. Looking out of the window all I could see was snow, ice, water and pine trees. There didn't appear to be many buildings. I must have missed them, because I can now confirm that Stockholm does have buildings - quite a number of them, actually.
My bag had made it unviolated, which was a relief - I wouldn't have to present my slides in jeans and teeshirt. Immigration formalities seemed fairly perfunctory and superficial. I bought a return bus ticket which turned out to be my first shock - 219 kronen, which is about R242. The bus in Cape Town costs R50. Granted it doesn't run as far - maybe half the distance, but Stockholm certainly is pricey. The bus trundled down the highway and I snapped pictures as we went - the fields seemed still to have a good amount of snow and the trees were still waiting for the spring foliage.It looked (and felt) like winter still. The temperature at the airport was 3 degrees C and it dropped to 2 en route.
I arrived at the central terminus (Cityterminalen), and it was a short walk to my hotel, the Radisson Blu Royal Viking, although I did get the wrong Radisson at first - it seems there are a few. I had a room on the 7th floor, which pleased me - for some reason I usually get rooms on low floors with no views and I like to see the city from my window. It looked out across Vasagatan towards a lovely looking building with an impressive clocktower, which Google Maps informed me was the Arbetsmarknadsdepartementet - the Ministry of Labour.
Looking the other way up and across the Vasagatan I could see a tall church spire which I learned was that of the Klara kyrka, and I determined to visit it when I got a chance. There was an interesting contrast of old and new - modern office blocks and shops and the old church and that was to be a theme for my few days in the city.
There was free high speed (and it really is high speed) wireless internet in my room, so I got to work on the backlog of emails and work. Sometime in the evening I felt hungry so went across the road to the MacDonalds and got something called a Big Tasty, which seemed to be a Big Mac plus bacon, plus French Fires. That set me back 68 Swedish Krone, or about 75 South African rands, from which I deduced that our currency is either 3 times undervalued or theirs 3 times overvalued, since a Big Mac and fries in SA costs about R25, as far as I remember. I should say that MacDonalds gets a lot of bad press for the nutritional quality of their food etc. but I am a big fan of Mac's - when I travel it is the one place I know I can go to (1) which is close by - there is always a MacDonalds around the corner (2) where I know what I am getting - the menu is pretty standard (3) where I won't have to mortgage my house to pay the bill and (4) where I won't have to pay a hefty gratuity to an incompetent waitron for service I don't need. They may not have the classiest product in the world, but at least they have a consistent product. And actually, the food doesn't taste bad, particularly the fries. Add to that the company, which is usually a mix of students, blue collar workers and families, and you've got a reasonably pleasant place to visit. Which is what I did. My short sojourn across the road sharply reminded me that I was near the arctic circle. I don't know what the temperature was but in the space of about 2 minutes, my fingers just about froze and I felt like my nose had solidified and was going to fall off in one chunk.
I got back to my room, went through my presentation once (had to make sure it didn't take more than 20 minutes) and turned in for the night. Before switching off the light I flicked through the channels on the TV to see if there was anything worth depriving myself of sleep for - there wasn't, but I am always fascinated by the porn channels. Maybe I should rephrase that. Hotels usually have 2 or more pay channels, some with movies, some with what is variously called "adult" or "erotica". To watch them one has to agree to additional money being billed to your room account. If you happen to flick onto the channel, as I did, a big black box appears in the middle of the screen telling you you have to pay to watch. So all visuals are blocked - what is not blocked is the audio, and that is what fascinates me. I simply do not believe that anyone - anyone - makes those sorts of noises, at that volume, when having sex, even if they are having the most unusual, bizarre, otherworldly, cataclysmic, earthmoving encounters. Maybe I am naive. It doesn't seem physiologically possible. After a few minutes of fascination I decided sleep was more exciting and switched off both the TV and the light.
Thursday
I was up early - got the time zones confused and woke in a panic thinking that I was late for the meeting. I showered and shaved, went through the presentation one last time, skipped breakfast and left for the venue. With 2 hours in hand, I thought I would easily make it. I followed the directions on the email we had been sent which detailed "How to get from the hotel to the eCDC". First I had to buy a strip of bus tickets. That would be 180kr (R199) and I could get it at the 7-11. Cool. Got that. Then I had to find the 69 bus stop. Well that took me about half an hour - I got confused between the Vasagatan and the Klarabergsviadukten and wandered round for a long time looking like a bewildered foreginer, which of course I was. A king lady tried to help me, but actually sent me even further off course. Eventually I went back to the hotel and was told "Oh yes, it is just across the road". Then I got the 69 bus going the wrong way, but the driver was very nice and set me right. The trip took about 20 minutes. I got out at the Tomtebodevagen stop / Karolinska Institutet and walked the 5 minutes up to the very impressive and beautiful eCDC offices. There was some snow on the ground and it really was very pretty.
I approached the young man at the reception who was very pleasant and helpful, but somewhat concerned. No, he said, no meeting like that here today. There had been one yesterday. My heart sank. I got out all my papers. There, I said, look, it says Thursday, March 17th. Yes, he said, but it also says Venue: Piperska Muren and that was back in the city centre, actually quite near my hotel, within walking distance in fact! Was it far? Well yes, it was quite far - too far to walk. Maybe 4 km. Reluctantly I called a cab, forked out another 140Kr and sat back as the driver took me to Piperska Muren. Next time I shall read the instructions more carefully.
The correct venue turned out to be no less impressive or charming than the first. It is a banquet and conference venue set in a little square just across from the Stockholms rådhus on the Scheelegatan. I found some friends, found a seat, found a power point for the laptop, couldn't find some coffee, and settled down for the day's proceedings.
At the end of day one, they fed us at the conference venue. The food throughout was great. Wonderful heavy dark bread. Lots of salmon. Delightful little chocolate creations. Great coffee.All decidedly wicked. I had some beer with my dinner, which came in a wine glass for some reason and was described as "light." So I had another. We then made our way home - a roughly ten minute walk (!) across a frozen river or inlet. There was a keen wind, but it wasn't too unpleasant. At least it wasn't raining or snowing. It was fairly early when I arrived back so I had a couple of beers in the SkyBar with an Australian (who also likes beer) and a Canadian colleague (who drinks vodka). A round of drinks cost about 400 rands! It was all very nice. We said good night and I then spent the next 3 hours catching up my work in the room - trips are all very well but the work doesn't go away.
Friday
I was better prepared, and less pressured, since my talk was over. I went to breakfast but didn't feel like eating much so made do with fruit and joghurt and of course coffee. I spotted the Australian paediatrician in the breakfast room, who looked about as ropey as I was feeling, and we dined together, to be joined later by a journalist and a researcher from India. It made for good conversation. The Australian was full of really good stories, some of which I remember. He told us how his great grandfather had been a cattle thief – professional, unabashed – and had ended his days getting shot dead by the police in front of his wife and child, because he kept running away. But the story I liked best was from his days as a doctor in Malawi. He had gone to buy supplies for the hospital malnutrition ward, in bulk. The owner of the local store evidently looked at him and asked him what he needed and why. He explained that he had everything he needed except for 25 litres of cooking oil. The Malawian looked troubled, in the way that only Malawians can. “Bwana,” he said, “I am thinking that you you will only be needing 20 litres, not 25.” Now my friend actually needed 25 but to be polite he said, “Oh, OK!” at which point the Malawian, still looking troubled, came back with “And Bwana, I only have 15 litres to sell you!” To me it epitomises everything that I love about Africa and Africans – practicality, gentleness, just their methodical, matter of fact approach to life’s little challenges. I loved it.
I walked to the conference venue, uncertainly at first but I soon recognised a few landmarks from the night before and in no time I was there. The forecast was for snow, but it hadn’t started yet, although it was very cold. I stopped once or twice en route to take photo’s – Stockholm is one of those cities where you seem to be able to point your camera in just about any direction and get a good shot.
The second day of the conference went off without major hitches. I made use of the excellent broadband connection to catch up of admin, while keeping one ear on the conference proceedings in case called upon to offer a comment or answer a question – which didn’t happen, I am thankful to say. Lunch was some sort of meat loaf or fritter – it tasted a little like pork pie, but softer. Not sure what it was and thought better not to ask in case they told me! One thing I found odd was that each long table had a bottle of sparkling water for each person but just one bottle of beer – one for the entire table. Of course, noone drank it. If there had been beer for everyone, the afternoon’s proceedings might have been very different…
The meeting ended around 4, with a consensus agreement being agreed on, strange as that sounds. I walked back to the hotel and by this stage there was a steady fall of light snowflakes – very pretty. Back at the Radisson I relievedly got rid of my jacket and work clothes, and donned my jeans and hoody. I wanted to go and have a look at the Clara Church, and possibly hear some music there. Getting across Vasagatan was a mission but I managed without falling on my face. A short walk up the hill and I stood before the very impressive church and was glad to see that the door was open. I went inside. Old churches have a particular sound, smell and atmosphere and this one was no different. I rather like it. There were perhaps 5 people sitting in the pews, some at prayer, others just sitting quietly, presumably thinking. I made my way halfway down the first block of pews and sat down. Behind me towered a beautifully ornate pipe organ and high above me an elaborately decorated ceiling with images of I wouldn’t know who – presumably Biblical characters. In front of me and to the left loomed an elevated, gilded pulpit. I couldn’t see exactly where the door was, but it was plain that the preacher would have to do some climbing to get to it.
I’m not normally a man of many prayers, but something prompted me to pray and so I offered some simple prayers, for my late father and father-in-law, for my family, for myself … and having prayed I felt strangely at peace.
I had intended to do some more exploring but the weather was getting worse so I went back to the hotel, spent an hour or so in the gym, Jacuzzi and pool, and then did some more work. Around 8 I was hungry again, so made a second visit to the MacDonalds across the road – I wasn’t prepared to walk any further and neither was I prepared to pay the prices at the hotel restaurant. So Big Tasty it was, I survived and so did my wallet, although it creaked a little.
Back in my room I watched a little TV – the BBC don’t seem to know whether to concentrate on Libya/Gaddaffi or Japan/earthquake-tsunami/nuclear meltdown. Can’t be that often that they have two stories of such magnitude running simultaneously. And then I drifted off to sleep…
Saturday
Saturday was always going to be good. Nothing to do and all day to do it in. Well, almost. My flight was only at 3.10 pm. I had a leisurely breakfast with some colleagues, checked out (I like it when I have enough time to check every corner, cupboard, nook and cranny about three times), put my two bags in the baggage room and made for the Vasagatan. The snow had stopped and it was a glorious day outside – cold, but blue skies everywhere, still lots of snow around, maybe a half an inch or so, a sparkle everywhere. I walked down the Vasagatan and then crossed a bridge to the island which is Old Stockholm. Again, I make no pretence of knowing anything about the city except what I read, but I gather that this part of the city is by far the oldest, and that some of the buildings date back to the 1200’s. By white South African standards that is ancient.
I walked around for an hour or so, taking pictures, just drinking it in. As I said, everywhere I pointed the camera there seemed to be a shot waiting to be taken. I don’t know what all the buildings were but I know I saw the Riddarholmen Church – the oldest preserved building in the city and its only surviving medieval monastery church, built by the Franciscans around the time of King Magnus Ladulas in 1290. Unfortunately it was locked, and I couldn’t go in. I gather it is more of a museum and burial place now than a church.
I saw the Noble Museum, though I didn’t go in – there were a lot of tourists there and I wasn’t really that interested.
I wandered around the old city for a while longer. One rather narrow, cobbled street was being dug up - at the bottom of a humongous ditch law exposed sewerage pipes and there seemed to be a bit of an iffy smell in the air. I side stepped it and managed to avoid falling in.I then looked up and caught site of the name of the road on a signboard on the wall of the nearest building and was delighted to learn that I was standing in Kakbrinken. OK, well the humour of that might be lost on those who don't speak Afrikaans, but I thought it was funny.
On the way back to my hotel I passed the Houses of Parliament, the Rikstag I think they are called, and the Town Hall, both beautiful and impressive buildings.
It was getting late and I had to go, though I could happily have spent a week there. I walked back to the hotel, picked up my luggage, found the airport bus (they come every 15 minutes and I already had a return ticket), and bade goodbye to Stockholm as we drove through the streets and out onto the highway. I noted a sign which said Arlanda 29km - I hadn't realised it was that far. We made it in good time, check in was seemless, and I had about an hour to kill at the gate. I ordered a Swedish beer, brie panini and a pastry from the deli. The guy behind the counter, who was not Swedish, looked a little quizzical and then confided that he thought the Danish beer was better, so I took his advice and had an Eriksberg.
Three hours later I was in London, and 18 hours later I was back in Cape Town after two uneventful flights. On the second leg - London to Cape Town on SAA overnight - I decided to have a few drinks and listen to the classical channel on the headphones provided, seeing as I wasn't in front of the only TV in site. Not sure what I expected - maybe some light classics, or chamber music. I was surprised to be served up a loop of English Choral Music, including some of my favourites - Gustav Holst, William Walton, Frederick Delius, Hubert Parry - a genuine and very welcome surprise.
General impression of Stockholm - lovely city, nice people, frigging cold, very expensive. Would love to go back.
