We are heading home, and recorded a quick podcast here in Schiphol Airport after going through security.
Security passage, as you will hear, was greatly aided by advance planning: last week I contacted Condor, our “host” airline, requesting assistance for Oliver. They responded with a “DPNA” PDF file that I could print out that identified Oliver as a flyer-with-autism, and instructed me to print it out and show it along the way.
With the aid of this very helpful blog post from a mother and son in our situation, we knew to go to the “Assistance Desk” upon arrival at the airport. So that’s what we did. They took a look at Oliver’s paperwork and asked us to wait in the nearby “elderly and disabled” waiting area.
About 10 minutes later we were greeted by Pascal (pro tip: always ask assistants for their name; it instantly establishes a rapport) and I explained our situation. Pascal, it turns out, is an intern, halfway through his term at Schiphol, on the way to working in the air. He proved a useful aid, as he was able to be a sort of “advance man” out in front of us, opening the way for the special services (calmness, physical search, no crazy questions) that we needed. He walked us through check-in, and then from check-in to security, took us to the special services line there, explained to the security agent that we needed a physical search, walked through security himself (also getting a physical search), and pointed us on our way. We shook his hand, explained what a great help he’d been, with hopes that he will now go on to a more autism-flyer-friendly career.
The physical search itself was conducted by the kind Patrick (see earlier pro tip), and was done calmly and without delay. Oliver remained calm and happy throughout, even through, deep in our hearts, we were both nervous and a little anxious.
Once we left Pascal, we headed into the departure gates, spotted a “reboost in 5 minutes” massage chair, and Oliver eagerly volunteered. Best €2 we’ve spent today.
And then we made a podcast.
On to Frankfurt!
Young man relaxes with “revitalising shiatsu massage” at the airport after successful, calm passage through security. Best €2 we’ve spent today.
If there was a travel planning bug when I put this trip together, it was only leaving 48 hours for Amsterdam. But we had a hard start for public school on Thursday on one end, and TonElmineCon on the other, so there was, alas, no way to squeeze in more time. So we got to sample a quick swath of Amsterdam today in hopes that we one day use what we learned as the basis for a return trip.
We started the day with the bountiful breakfast at ZOKU (therein following Pete’s Law, “always book a hotel with a good breakfast buffet”), and then lazed around on the roof, reading and sketching for another hour (therein following Pete’s Law, newly-learned, “travel is not a race”).
With a spring in our step from the hearty, relaxing start, we headed out on the town just after 11:30 a.m.
Given the success of our Malmö cargo bicycle beta test, we decided that our first stop would be to try renting a Dutch take on the people-carrying bicycle, the Bakfiets bike.
We walked up the street to MacBike Rental at Waterlooplein and found a straight-talking, helpful clerk there who considered the possibility and advised that I should try riding the bike without Oliver first, lest I be unable to, and he fall out. I left Oliver as a deposit, and headed off for a loop around the block.
The bike was unusual to ride, not surprising given how long it is, and how the front wheel is steered indirectly. But I managed to get the hang of it, and returned unscathed (“most people, if they’re gonna fall off, do so in the first 20 seconds,” I was told). Next it was time for Oliver to join in: I held the bike steady while he climbed into the wooden box and sat down, and off I pedaled.
With 150 pounds of teenager in the box the bike was even more unusual to handle, and after half a block I realized that even if I could get a rhythm down, I wouldn’t feel comfortable merging into the chaotic flow of Amsterdam cycle traffic, so, with heartfelt hanks, we bid our host goodbye and continued on without cycle.
We walked west, through Rembrandtplein, and when we passed a Maoz Vegan restaurant on a corner Oliver, mindful of our need to eat and hydrate, insisted we stop for lunch, ever-mindful of my vegetarian tendencies. We enjoyed a couple of falafel sandwiches sitting at a counter overlooking both a tattoo & piercing shop and a multi-floor live sex show complex; Oliver was unphased.
Our next step was, I think, my favourite shop of our entire trip: the Boekie Woekie bookshop on
Although we’d only been out for a couple of hours at this point, a break was in order, so we rounded the corner and walked up the canal to Koffiehuis ‘De Hoek’ where Oliver devoured a piece of Dutch apple pie and I discovered “fresh ginger tea,” which, as near as I can tell, is made simply by pouring boiling water over slices of fresh ginger (it was great).
Eager to see something of the Amsterdam waterfront, and armed with a recommendation from Harold, we walked to the central train station, through a tunnel under the tracks, and directly onto the ferry that runs to the area around the A’DAM building across the water (the ferry carries bicycles, scooters, and pedestrians, and it’s free). The neighbourhood across proved to be an interesting one to wander around: we largely ignored A’DAM (the perilous-looking swing suspending from the penthouse was forbidding-looking), but we toured an interesting shipping-container-housed exhibit on waste management in New York, Jakarta, Lagos, São Paulo and Amsterdam, got a coffee at Coffee Virus, hidden inside the A LAB, and then wandered around the A LAB itself (which appears, from our brief tour, to be kind of like Betahaus on steroids).
There was really only one place that I had to visit in Amsterdam, and that was Mediamatic.
I first learned of Mediamatic when the content management system cum wiki that powers its website was used to manage the website of one of the reboot conferences. I created a page for myself on the Mediamatic website back in 2007 and it’s been there ever since. Also since then I’ve been subscribing to the Mediamatic email newsletter and paying attention to its various projects. So I’ve developed an affinity for the place, even though I’ve never visited. Until today.
Mediamatic describes itself like this:
Mediamatic is a cultural institution dedicated to new developments in the arts since 1983. We organize lectures, workshops and art projects, focusing on nature, biotechnology and art+science in a strong international network.
As far as the general day-to-day public is concerned, the easiest way to experience Mediamatic is through Mediamatic ETEN, its restaurant, and that’s where we pointed ourselves for supper tonight.
That pointing turned out to be something of a vertical challenge, as dutifully following Google Maps’ directions put us in full view of Mediamatic, but on a bridge two stories above, initially unable to derive the geographical path between us and it. Fortunately an elevator manifested itself at the end of the tram platform, and soon we were walking onto the grounds and in the door of the restaurant.
Mediamatic ETEN is a vegan restaurant perched on the water, overlooking the Nemo science museum. They were serving pizza this evening, and we ordered up the Pizza Nero, an apple-pear juice, and a Swingers beer (“Reminiscent of sun, the beach and the fresh saltiness of the North Sea, Swingers is the perfect partner on the dance floor we call life.”)
The pizza, covered in mushrooms, onions, beans and greens, was delicious. And the beer was, indeed, reminiscent of the North Sea.
From Mediamatic, we took the hidden elevator back up to the tram platform, caught the № 26 to central station, and, from there, took the Metro № 53 back to ZOKU, stopping to take a photo of at least one of the city’s canals before leaving.
As I type we are in the sixth floor “living room” at ZOKU. I’ve just polished off another fresh ginger tea; Oliver a chai latte; and we shared a dish of mixed nuts (I could get used to having drinks and snacks easily-ordered 24/7).
Sitting here typing away I’ve just noticed that the cork map of the world that’s mounted on the wall behind Oliver is missing Prince Edward Island; if we had more time, I’d use the 3D printer at the bar to rectify this. But we don’t. So we’ll have to come back another time.
We take the long Amsterdam-Frankfurt-Halifax journey tomorrow, arriving in the early evening; after an overnight, we’re back on the Island on Wednesday afternoon. And Oliver starts grade 12 on Thursday morning.
I had a chat with Pedro yesterday about the utility of opening yourself up to “randomness” when traveling (or, for that matter, when moving through life). Randomness, put another way, is simply not having a plan, and allowing what might happen to happen. This does not mean that it doesn’t take effort: it’s often hard not to have a plan, not to fall into established patterns, to do what is expected of someone like you in such and such a situation.
Practicing this has resulted in some of the brilliant moments of travel in our family’s life. It’s how Oliver and I ended up by ourselves at the zoo in eastern Slovakia, how I found myself falling into a hole on a construction site in Munich, and how the path led us to be the only guests in a small hotel south of Barcelona. In each case we’d left the Lonely Planet at home, and headed off to see where the road might lead. It almost always leads somewhere interesting.
Today that interesting place was the storied Paradiso club here in Amsterdam. We hadn’t planned to go there; indeed we had no plans for this evening save perhaps to find a place for supper and to take a walk. But an accidental web search led me to learn that tonight at Paradiso was Sugar Mountain presents Tyler Childers, Parker Millsap, e.a. and that was interesting enough bill to catch my eyes; tickets were only €15 and that sealed the deal.
Paradiso is only a 20 minute walk, a straight shot parallel a series of canals, from our base here at ZOKU; between my noticing the show at 4:30 p.m. and heading out the door at 5:30 p.m. I managed to buy tickets, figure out how to use the printer in the lounge, print the tickets, and get ourselves packaged up for the evening.
As we walked into the main theatre and found a place to perch ourselves the lights came down and Parker Millsap and his band took the stage. From the first chord I realized that I was going to need ear protection to withstand the show with my 52 year old ears; fortunately the club helpfully has free foam ear plugs on offer at the door.
Millsap and his band were hard-driving country-influenced rock. They were a tight ensemble, and the played a solid set; it wasn’t particularly to my taste, but it was a good way to start the evening.
Millsap’s set was only 40 minutes long; as soon as it was over we moved to the smaller second-floor hall for Ruby Boots (“e.a.” in Dutch means “and others,” and Ruby Boots, fronted by Australian Bex Chilcott, was one of the others). The band is usually a guitar-heavy Americana band; this evening it was just Chilcott on guitar and a single band mate accompanying. They did their best to approximate the volume of the full band, and, with by Chilcott’s powerful voice and skillful songwriting, it was a delightful hour-long session.
The main event was Tyler Childers, back in the main hall.
While the other acts were solid, Childers and his band were crackerjack, and transported the night from a novelty to a happening. Their Kentucky-fueled country rock was well-crafted and energetic; it’s almost impossible to believe that Childers is only 27 years old, as his songs seem written by someone with considerably more life under their belt. We stayed for the entire 75 minute set, and enjoyed every song (it’s not every Kentucky country band that inserts a cover of Kiss Me by Sixpence None The Richer into their act).
Our lack of a plan served us well tonight; we’ve one more day to try the same approach again before we fly home to Canada on Tuesday.
(As should be obvious from the photos above, my aging phone’s camera is dreadful at low-light action shots; I wanted to include something to document the night, though, so I included the photos despite their fuzziness).
It is a sunny Sunday in Amersfoort, and I am sitting on the tiny third floor balcony of our rented flat, looking out over the back yards of our erstwhile neighbours. Across the way and several back yards up a quartet us hanging their laundry and inspecting their garden; a neighbour two doors down shouts greetings at them, sticking his head out his third floor skylight so that they can hear him.
The clock is ticking down to our check out time at noon, but I am choosing to eke out every minute of peace before we enter into the maelstrom of Amsterdam and then home.
Oliver and I spent two very happy days with friends here in Amersfoort, a gathering catalyzed by our friend’s Elmine and Ton on the occasion of Elmine’s birthday. It is the second time we’ve joined the “birthday unconference” caravan, and even though Tom and Elmine have moved across the country in the four years since we were last here, it feels like coming home.
It seems folly to try to document what happened over these two days (although Frank has done a good job), so I will instead focus on three things that stand out.
First was Oliver’s talk.
The “un” in “unconference” means “there’s no formal program, and there’s no audience: we and us form the program together.” And so Oliver stood up on the stage—a tiny step-stool—and pitched the idea of presenting “Google Home and Amazon Echo and Ring Doorbell and Police Surveillance Cameras.” He received an enthusiastic reception, and a time was set on the schedule for him.
At the appointed hour, with me advancing the slides from the balcony, he presented his slide deck (see slides here) with confidence. The last slide in his deck was “do you have any questions for us?” and this then precipitated 45 minutes of rousing discussion on privacy, access, streaming music, and home control. I was very proud of him: the initiative was entirely of his own doing, he crafted his slides on his own, and got himself on the schedule through his own will. He is becoming a force in the world, and that is awe-inspiring to see.
The second highlight is an event that preceded Oliver’s talk, the “icebreaker” part of the day that led things off. I have always dreaded the “everybody introduce yourself” part of meetings, especially meetings of diverse people whose lives inevitably seem much more interesting than my own; this, thankfully, was dispensed with, and instead we were prompted to gather with people we didn’t yet know and to talk about our best and worst moves in life.
What proceeded from this simple prompt was a rich discussion of what it’s like to live as an expat, how difficult it is to make friends as an adult, and the power of neighbourhood connections. Oliver and I were in a group with Heinz and Elja and Martyn, and we talked for almost an hour. I have no idea what any of the others in our group do for a living, but I know that Martyn mowed his lawn this week in preparation for a neighbourhood party, that Heinz lives in an apartment block where it’s hard to get to know his neighbours, and that Elja has lived in Hungary, the USA and Turkey, and has the most popular Dutch blog post on making friends.
Finally, and most deeply, I appreciated the chance to reconnect with old friends, and to make new ones.
I proposed a session on accessible housing, and through that session got reintroduced to Xavier and Simone, who I’d met four years ago.
Oliver and I rode the train from Berlin to Amersfoort with our friend Martina and this both afforded us a chance to talk more intimately than long distances have allowed, and also provided me with support when the trip took a challenging turn, and I needed someone to bear witness and to seize control over shifting logistics.
Our friend Pedro flew from Indonesia to be here and we instantly reconnected and both picked up the threads of conversations we’d left off four years ago, and shared stories of our more recent sorrows and adventures.
I sat with Johnnie, who I hadn’t seen since Reboot many years ago, on the couch in the living room for a few short minutes before lunch and our chat quickly turned to the joys of participating in projects or discussions or meetings where you have only a casual interest, and thus no hill to guard.
It was a pleasure to meet Frank, who’s joined Ton and me in an ad hoc effort to understand the Indieweb, in person, and to participate in his session on redecentralizing the web; our digital discussion will be so much more powerful now that we’ve met in the flesh.
I got to spend time–not enough–with Lilia and with Robert, also “stuff that matters” veterans from the last round, and to learn of their latest adventure, starting a new company.
Elmine’s brothers, Harmen and Siert, were both there and I got to chat with both of them, and to witness Harmen’s Olympic-level avuncularity with his niece Y., and to hear about Siert’s adventures in 3D fabrication since I heard him talk about RepRap machines at reboot a decade ago.
Ton introduced Oliver and me to Matthijs, the son of a collaborator; he is a dynamic young man considering a move to Canada, and we had a good chat about education, employment, escaping the orbit of your home culture, and what may lay ahead for him. He also gave me an excellent survey of the current state of Android phones, pointing me at models I’d never heard of.
There were almost 40 of us in total, and even more at the Saturday barbecue that formed part two of the weekend, and the chance to spend time with such a diverse and interesting bunch, in the almost-as-if-purpose-built surroundings of Ton and Elmine’s new house, was a great privilege; to have Oliver join me as a partner in the endeavour made it all the better.
The day wasn’t entirely without dipping into the hard “stuff” of “stuff that matters”: Oliver and I constructed a pneumatic tube-based messaging system that allowed notes to be sent to the garden, an activity that provided a way for us to truly to something together, but also to step away from the fray a little.
As the night wound down yesterday, and friends and family took leave, we found ourselves the last to depart, leaving Elmine and Ton and Martina and Pedro to recover from the whirlwind and get some sleep.
I took this photo, a little blurry alas, but heartfelt nonetheless, of Pedro and Elmine sitting on the couch; the photo is both a testament to a great friendship, but also a proxy for the feeling that washed over our time here. Ton and Elmine are courageous explorers of new social terrain; I’m so happy to be part of their merry band.
There is a small playground across from our flat in Amersfoort with this sign posted in front. I love the rules and how they’re communicated in words and stick figures.
When we last left the trail of our summer’s-end trip to Europe we were in Malmö, Sweden, preparing to head to Berlin.
On Monday morning we woke up to a dreary day in Malmö, with the threat of rain just over the horizon. We packed up the Swedish operation, had the last breakfast in our Airbnb (a lovely flat should you ever find yourself looking for lodging in the city). With the impending rain, and a wish to exercise every option available to destress the travel day, I ordered us up an Uber (only my third ever) and a friendly cab driver arrived 5 minutes later for the quick run to the Triangeln train station. A few minutes later we were whisked away on the Øresundståg across to Copenhagen.
As we were traveling first class (which was insignificantly more expensive than second class), upon arrival in Copenhagen we were able to retire to the utilitarian DSB lounge overlooking the main station floor; it was a busy, chaotic morning in the station, and while the lounge was absent canapés and butlers, the quiet and remove were worth every penny.
At 12:52 we boarded the first of three trains for the day: the first run was from Copenhagen to Fredericia, a main railway junction in the western Denmark area of Jutland in; from there it was a change of trains and south to Hamburg and in Hamburg we had a short 30 minute layover–just enough time to grab a pineapple popsicle from the DB lounge–before catching the final train, to Berlin.
The train pulled into the main Berlin rail station, the Berlin Hauptbahnhof, at 8:30 p.m. We quickly hopped on the S-Bahn to Ostbahnhof, an 8 minute trip. From there we walked to the A&O Hostel on Köpenicker Str. where we arrived just before 9:00 p.m. We checked in, dumped our bags in our room, and walked at a brisk pace to Freiluftkino Kreuzberg, just 500 metres up Adalbertstraße. We bought tickets for The Shape of Water, and took our seats. At 9:15 p.m. Just as the show started. It was the travel equivalent of a perfect game.
Freiluftkino Kreuzberg is one of my favourite places on Earth, period. And it’s certainly my absolutely most favourite place to see films. It’s tucked into a courtyard beside Kunstquartier Bethanien (which also houses Druckwerkstatt, where I spent many happy Tuesdays printing back in 2011). The films are shown outdoors, on a large screen; seating is either in garden chairs or loungers. There is popcorn and German beer. And the scent of pot smoke in the air. And bats and birds flying around. On Monday night it was windy and threatening rain, and thus the perfect night to see a film about a watery monster falling in love.
It was the best way imaginable to start a trip to Berlin.
We woke up on Tuesday morning just a little exhausted from travel (and just a little more from the granite beds at the A&O). After the uninspiring but helpful hostel breakfast we headed over to Companion Coffee to seek an antidote to the hostel coffee (made out of the same materials as the beds, from the taste).
We then hopped on the U-Bahn into Mitte for lunch with my friend Igor, tucking into MUJI for some emergency stationery browsing for a few minutes before our appointment meeting time.
We enjoyed a very pleasant lunch with Igor and his office mate at Made in China on Schönhauser Allee, stopping for (excellent) ice cream at Cuore di Vetro on the way back. We bid our lunchmates goodbye and headed to do your read me?!, the magazine shop of magazine shops, then to R.S.V.P., the stationery store on Mulackstraße that has doubled in size since I was first there in 2011, spreading to a second location across the street. At R.S.V.P. I acquired a lovely Kaweco AL Sport fountain pen that’s just the right size for carrying around all the time, and some cord made from an exotic-sounding material called baumwolle that I later realized is simply cotton (“tree” + “wool”).
With a first round of stationery shopping out of the way, we retired to Hackbarth’s where we met my old friend James, a Canadian long a Berliner, as I’ve written before, a sharer of a childhood barber, and always someone I enjoy catching up with enormously.
My friend Morgan came along after work to join us for a drink (you’ll remember him from such episodes as The One Where I Blow Up the Car and I Am a Connection Machine) and afterwards we moved on to Salt n Bone for supper, where we were later joined by our friend Tiffany.
We rolled in to the A&O just after 10:30, happy to have spent a day with friends.
On Wednesday morning we subjected ourselves to the A&O breakfast again, but avoided the coffee in favour of an extended morning coffee break with friend Peter, whose office is as well-located an office as I’ve ever seen, embedded as it us in the same complex as Modulor, the world’s greatest stationery superstore. After catching up with Peter we spent almost 2 hours roaming the aisles of Modulor, finding enough unique items of interest to fill a small shipping box; so a trip to the post office around the corner was our next stop (Modulor helpfully has a packing and wrapping station, well-equipped with scissors, tape, kraft paper and string that made this much easier).
For lunch we walked across the street from Modulor to Prinzessinnengarten and shared an meal of creamed chickpeas with cucumbers over rice and couscous while perched on a rattletrap table made out of tree stumps nestled between forest and garden. After lunch we toured the site, and stopped to make some sketches.
From the Moritzplatz U-Bahn that opens on to both Modulor and Prinzessinnengarten we rode into West Berlin to go to Hamburger Bahnhof, an art gallery in a former train station where we’d never been before, despite many visits to the city. We were lucky to find three intriguing exhibitions in place: a room full of works by Joseph Beuys, Andy Warhol, Robert Rauschenberg and Cy Twombly organized with “thought bubbles” beside each containing a collage of influencing imagery, Hello World, in the upper gallery, “a critical inquiry into the collection of the Nationalgalerie and its predominantly Western focus,” and, on the other end of the building, a monumental collection of installations by Qin Yufen.
Once we’d toured the gallery we found ourselves tired and thirsty and I debated whether we should simply grab a coffee at the pleasant looking canal-side café attached to the gallery, or forge onward into West Berlin for something possibly more interesting. I channeled Catherine in this regard, and followed what I knew would be her advice to take the easy coffee at hand; this turned out to be exactly the right decision, and we emerged ready for the final activity of the day.
This final activity was a supper, thoughtfully organized by the aforementioned Morgan, at a Shaniu’s House of Noodles on Pariser Str. Morgan is a member of a ragtag group that, over the winter, gets together for a weekly TV watch-and-potluck; he called together a special summer session to visit Shaniu’s, and we were invited to join. The company was a diverse mix of people connected by myriad threads, all interesting; the food was transcendent, with several flavours that were completely new to me.
We arrived at the hostel at an “early” 10:00 p.m. and fell quickly to sleep after a quick round of preemptive packing.
Thursday morning we woke up at the unusually early hour of 7:00 a.m., ready to head east to the Netherlands.
In total we were in Berlin for a little more than 48 hours, and we managed to do a lot of visiting in that short time, and to visit my favourite haunts. Oliver was very, very generous and patient with me, indulging my stationery obsession and abiding many conversations with friends.
As usual, we spent too little time in Malmö, didn’t get to do all the visiting we wanted to do, didn’t get to have all the conversations we wanted to have. But we made a valiant effort to squeeze in as much as we could, and our efforts reached their peak over the weekend.
We started off meeting up with [[Olle]] and [[Luisa]] just up the street at ReBike, which was holding a bicycle auction. The auction proved to be dissatisfying, so we redirected to the nearby flea market. We emerged hungry for lunch, and a stop at the McDonalds next door was proposed, an atypical emergency measure given hunger levels (and an opportunity for us to spend our “we’re allow to go to McDonalds once on every European trip if circumstances dictate” allowance). Some of our party being vegans, our visit was predicated on the presence of the McVegan on the menu (yes, this is a thing). It was not on the menu, so we decamped.
At this point Luisa returned home and Olle, Oliver and I redirected to Mitt Möllan, where Olle had Indian food and Oliver and I enjoyed pizza from the excellent Pizza dal Sud.
Sated, we caught a taxi, magically invoked by Olle’s phone, and headed to the Moderna Museet Malmö where we rendezvoused with Olle’s friend David, and took in an exhibition of 19th century photography (upstairs) and a retrospective of the work of Polish artists Katarzyna Kobro and Władysław Strzemiński (downstairs).
After our visit, we retired to the stratospherically orange café, where we enjoyed coffee and cake and got to know David a little better. He is, we learned, a practitioner of “stealthy” photography–the taking of photos in such a way as the moment is captured without artifice. I decided to try my hand, and, in the flick of a moment, took this photo, which is either a photo of David and Olle, or a photo of the tiny man in the background talking on his mobile.
At this point we left David and Olle, and the newly-joining Eric, to their own devices, and headed off in search of an early supper, hopeful that the rain would hold until we were under cover.
We found both food and cover from the rain at Nguyen’s Sandwiches, where we enjoyed tofu bánh mì.
Outside the impending rain became driving rain, and so I quickly pulled out my phone to see if there was a movie we might watch, so as to avoid a soggy walk home. The Children Act, an Emma Thompson film, was starting in 15 minutes just a few blocks away, so we scubaed through the rain and made it just in time. And, in so doing, we got to experience interesting aspects of the Swedish cinema-going experience: reserved seating, a convenience store-like concession (similar to what we saw in Oslo in 2015), and a phalanx of political advertising during the pre-show.
When we emerged 2 hours later, the rain had passed and it was a brisk, bright Saturday evening, perfect for a walk home. While walking I texted Olle to invite him over for tea, and when we arrived he was standing in front of our apartment waiting for us; we did, indeed, drink tea, and ate potato chips, and talked well into the evening.
Sunday morning’s task was to do our laundry.
Our Malmö apartment had a communal laundry room in the basement that we could reserve the exclusive use of for 4 hours using a board in the lobby, affixing a lock to the hour range we wanted. As our key was in the countryside with our apartment’s owner, we were advised to stick a piece of paper in our slot:
At 8:00 a.m. I packed up our near-week’s worth of laundry and headed down. Only to find the door locked. This was quickly resolved by a ping to our Airbnb host, who had a neighbour unlock the door, and by 8:30 a.m. I was in business, decrypting the not-all-that-hard-to-decrypt Swedish washing machine.
The highlight of the experience, though, was not the washing but the drying, as the drying was done in a C.S. Lewis-sized drying cabinet, with swing-out bars on which to arrange wet clothes. It did an amazing job at drying everything quickly and completely and without wrinkles.
So the laundry was done and folded by 11:00 a.m.
It being Sunday, Oliver expected waffles. Fortunately I had Malmö-based experience in this regard, and we walked down to Kungsgatan Café for its weekend brunch, which included cheeses and meats and buns and granola and yogurt. And make-your-own waffles.
After lunch we took a walk in the sunshine, and then headed to Olle and Luisa’s apartment–just 5 minutes walk away–for a fika they had kindly organized in our honour. In attendance were friends I’d met before–Nene and Loe and Johanna–along with Lovisa and Mikael, who were new. There were cakes, and tarts, and ice cream, and cardamom-infused coffee and delightful company.
The highlight of the fika for me was an extended conversation with Nene about our shared love of fountain pens (her love is deeper than mine, which only served to deepen my own). Nene brought her entire fleet of pens, and kindly allowed me to try them all, and provided helpful commentary about each. She then left me with the unexpected gift of a pen and some intriguing inks. We will, I’m sure, have more to talk about on this in future.
As fika wound down, friend Jonas, who’d had to miss the afternoon to attend a baptism, radioed in and offered to drive us out to his allotment (which, in the Swedish sense, is a community garden plot cum modest summer cottage). We got a cook’s tour of the allotment, followed by a tasty take-out supper of vegetarian bibimbap from Spoonery.
Jonas dropped us back at our apartment late Sunday night, and I finished the day in a frantic drive to clean things up and get organized for our departure for Berlin this morning.
Which is where I type right now, en route presently from Fredericia to Hamburg, with Oliver across the way, wearing a red wool sweater that Olle loaned and then gifted him:
Next stop, Berlin.
It is high election season here in Sweden, and election advertising is on every street corner (and consumed almost all of the pre-show at the movie we went to yesterday).
This ad for the Green Party is especially noticable: “Now,” it reads, “the climate cannot wait.”
About This Blog
I am Peter Rukavina and this is my blog. I am a writer, letterpress printer, and a curious person.
To learn more about me, read my /now, look at my bio, read presentations and speeches I’ve written, or get in touch (peter@rukavina.net is the quickest way). You can subscribe to an RSS feed of posts, an RSS feed of comments, or receive a daily digests of posts by email.