I’m currently sitting on a 5 hour train destined for Lund from Stockholm. Our 5 day crash course in the nation’s capital has come to a close. I experienced my first hostel experience (which, thankfully, was anything BUT hostile); endured many hours of attempted sleep; probably picked up a cold from the drastic temperature drop; celebrated Midsommar and danced around a maypole.
I must break for a moment to describe Swedish maypole dancing. It involves a lot of hopping and jumping vertically (like raving for children), and following lyrical directions in Swedish, instructing you to embody the frog or the old man smoking snuff. Since Swedish is impossible, a dance troupe of elders hops around teaching all the Midsommar newbies how to interpret overly dance like the blue whale.
In other news, rumor has it that the train strike has terminated in Skåne, suggesting that we can actually get back to Lund tonight, shower, eat dinner and GO SPEND THE NIGHT THERE. I’m not sure if:

A. My fond memory of CPH is fictional,
B. I couldn’t get there, so my memory of this unobtainable joy emphasizes my appreciation for the city,
C. It’s actually as excellent as I remember it to be.

It’s probably option C. So in theory, tonight will be better than the past week in the capital.

So, Stockholm. I came to you with one expectation, and left confused. I thought there’d be so much craziness and nightlife and diversity—instead, I was brought to a maypole and town hall tour. It was a different good time, more standard than novel.

But still, gorgeous.


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