A few days ago, when I was hanging around in the lobby reading the internets, a late arriving girl materialized herself, I showed her the envelope with her name the reception guy left at the reception desk, we chatted a while and, well, since having a bit of company is never a bad idea, we hung around the town next day.
I was in Stockholm two years ago and I happened to see the changing of the royal guards. One bunch of soldiers arrived, another arrived, the leading ones said a few words ("Everything okay?" "Everything okay!" and both bunches left, one off-duty, one to take their positions. Passing the flag occured and maybe there was some fanfare. Apparently, this spectacle became popular so they improved it, throwing in a marching band and some new, exciting choreography. I noticed the marching band going around the Royal Castle on Sunday when I was hanging around the centre but it was Sunday and my first, last and only thought was that maybe some local garrison is keeping the citizens in a friendly mood, thus providing a Sunday promenade concert.
Nope.
So, I was wandering around with K. and we happened to the Royal Castle around midday so I thought it a good idea to go there and watch. The bunch of soldiers that was finishing their shift assembled and looked decorative. To my utmost surprise, some army guy stepped out with a paper, announcing into the loudspeakers: "Ladies and Gentlemen, I'm Captain Mikael Larsson (1) welcome to the changing of the Royal Guard, blah, blah, blah, and the Royal Castle is open to the public from twelve to three, as is the Royal Souvenir shop, where you can buy souvenirs from the Royal Castle." I started to laugh. I couldn't help recalling the Dontgonearthe Castle (2) where you could stay overnight, get a tasty meal and tasteful souvenirs, too.
The whole army messing around took an hour, including a few pieces played by the marching band for the pleasure of the tourists so it probably counts also as culture.
Lately, I've been thinking what it is like, to live in a monarchy. Surely, a monarch is trained from childhood to shake hands of fellow potentates in the most socially acceptable way, to get the right attire for the right occasions, to sit for being portrayed on postal stamps (if someone uses them) better than any elected official ever may be. After all, even the most degenerate nobleman manages a language or two and passable table manners with years of care and tutoring. Since in the modern democracies, the head of the state is important mainly for performing various ritual dances, good table manners and using the right fork for the right course are enough; maybe anything else even stands in the way (in places where the president, Commander-in-Chief or Supreme Priest need to sign government documents, it is obviously advisable to teach them how to write their own name). With elected officials, you never know. Maybe they can eat only sandwiches and the concept of silverware is beyond them, they are likely to have hidden agenda and they are rather hard to behead or dethrone otherwise when they are raving mad. Also, bare head looks much worse on stamps than a crowned one.
Of course that I have some vague idea about the functions of the state. After the last few years' political mess, when things worked best in those long months after the general election when there was no goverment, or in days of temporary officials in place of ministers after the government was deposed, it seems to me that the importance of state in general may be a bit overrated. And with the president close to raving mad... Ick.
I'd better go and read something funny.
Added on Saturday, whatsthedate.
I bought a horse-shaped cookie cutter, talked to K. about our glorious traditions of cookies and decorated gingerbread and since K. was to meet W. at the royal castle after that army thing, we went there. We were a bit early so we had a chance to watch the marching band of Royal Navy. The glorious traditions of decorated gingerbread include decorated gingerbread soldier. Nothing said.
I didn't check whether in the Royal Gift Shop, one could get cookie cutters shaped like Princess Victoria but I'll be around for a few more days.
---------------------------
(1) Name obviously invented and if I got it right, it's by mistake.
(2) Terry Pratchett reference again, what would you expect? Check Carpe jugulum for more.
Showing posts with label Stockholm. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Stockholm. Show all posts
Friday, 23 October 2009
Thursday, 22 October 2009
The Byredo Quest
The other day I ranted about Bal d'Afrique, yet another day I tried Pulp... and since I happen to be in Stockholm, I wanted to get me a souvenir and actually buy Pulp.
Since I'm a smart girl, I checked the Byredo website, found their address and somehow supposed that they have a shop. The address was an office building, with Byredo placed in the 8th floor in the building directory. I asked the Mabel or Caroline in the reception whether they have a shop up there or whether it's only offices, she said Only offices, sorry... and off I went.
Later, I checked the website again, found a 'how to shop' file and they offered only the internet shop.
Serves them right, I'll get it on eBay.
I bought yarn instead at Yllet store, because Yllet has an actual store where you can walk in, ask Will six skeins be enough for a sweater?, and get the yarn packed in a neat paper bag.
Tee hee.
Since I'm a smart girl, I checked the Byredo website, found their address and somehow supposed that they have a shop. The address was an office building, with Byredo placed in the 8th floor in the building directory. I asked the Mabel or Caroline in the reception whether they have a shop up there or whether it's only offices, she said Only offices, sorry... and off I went.
Later, I checked the website again, found a 'how to shop' file and they offered only the internet shop.
Serves them right, I'll get it on eBay.
I bought yarn instead at Yllet store, because Yllet has an actual store where you can walk in, ask Will six skeins be enough for a sweater?, and get the yarn packed in a neat paper bag.
Tee hee.
Monday, 19 October 2009
Random observations
It rained in the morning and generally, it was very close to that weather that says Go and jump under the metro train. It was probably the 'very close' thing that made a difference, I felt fine. The weather changed later on, and then again and again and again.
The issue of Scriptores rerum suecicarum was resolved. Nope, the work is not in the catalog. Why should it be, it's on the shelf in the reference section. Only in the main reading room, there are by sheer guess 100 shelf metres of books, how the hell am I supposed to find something without physically going through that? Sigh. The librarian was however helpful. After reassuring that I had checked the catalogs and that the book actually exists and that there are good reasons why it should also exist in this library, he let me have a form filled, said that it may take a few days, "you know, this is one of the difficult searches", and half an hour later, the three volumes of SRS landed on my table. I wonder whether the difficult search was like this:
Librarian, let's call him Bengt: Hey, Lasse, someone wants this Scriptores wtf thing and we should have it here.
Lasse: Well?
Bengt: It's not in the catalogs.
Lasse: And what it is, then?
Bengt: Scriptores Rerum Suecicarum
Lasse: Gee, it's in the reference library there and there, why should it be in the catalog when it's on the shelves. Them studip readers.
Bengt: goes away
I found what I needed and asked the photocopy service to pretty please copy around 150 A3 pages of that. Later on, I dropped at the copy counter again and they had An Issue. Like, to keep it A3 or to shrink the two A3+ pages to one A3. I don't have that bad eyesight but I spend way too much time reading and I want to read, not to labour over the text. I was politely explained that it's gonna be expensive, you know, said My research grant covers it, want pay beforehand? and made a long sigh. I mean, I don't blame the librarians for asking, I wonder what made them ask. In this polite and careful and neat and nice Sweden, someone actually had ordered a heap of copies and never came to pick them, moving away without leaving the address? What about my general trust in humanity?
The other day, I went down the street (Sveagatan, namely, but it's not that important) and sniffed something extremely familiar. Tauleto, damn, I decided after a while. Nope, can't be that one unless someone poured half a bottle on themselves a minute ago. Gotta be this one... well, I lead such internal dialogue deciding that it's extremely unlikely that the smell would be actually Tauleto, it seemed to be filling the entire street. I bitterly regretted then and regret it now that it doesn't have any staying power or it would be a wonderful gourmet-fruity fragrance.
The solution presented itself some time later. I had bought a Lindt and Sprungli chocolate with blueberries that smelled so intensively of blueberries... I carried the gnawed-on bar in the front pocket of my bag. Sigh. Want the smell bottled.
The issue of Scriptores rerum suecicarum was resolved. Nope, the work is not in the catalog. Why should it be, it's on the shelf in the reference section. Only in the main reading room, there are by sheer guess 100 shelf metres of books, how the hell am I supposed to find something without physically going through that? Sigh. The librarian was however helpful. After reassuring that I had checked the catalogs and that the book actually exists and that there are good reasons why it should also exist in this library, he let me have a form filled, said that it may take a few days, "you know, this is one of the difficult searches", and half an hour later, the three volumes of SRS landed on my table. I wonder whether the difficult search was like this:
Librarian, let's call him Bengt: Hey, Lasse, someone wants this Scriptores wtf thing and we should have it here.
Lasse: Well?
Bengt: It's not in the catalogs.
Lasse: And what it is, then?
Bengt: Scriptores Rerum Suecicarum
Lasse: Gee, it's in the reference library there and there, why should it be in the catalog when it's on the shelves. Them studip readers.
Bengt: goes away
I found what I needed and asked the photocopy service to pretty please copy around 150 A3 pages of that. Later on, I dropped at the copy counter again and they had An Issue. Like, to keep it A3 or to shrink the two A3+ pages to one A3. I don't have that bad eyesight but I spend way too much time reading and I want to read, not to labour over the text. I was politely explained that it's gonna be expensive, you know, said My research grant covers it, want pay beforehand? and made a long sigh. I mean, I don't blame the librarians for asking, I wonder what made them ask. In this polite and careful and neat and nice Sweden, someone actually had ordered a heap of copies and never came to pick them, moving away without leaving the address? What about my general trust in humanity?
The other day, I went down the street (Sveagatan, namely, but it's not that important) and sniffed something extremely familiar. Tauleto, damn, I decided after a while. Nope, can't be that one unless someone poured half a bottle on themselves a minute ago. Gotta be this one... well, I lead such internal dialogue deciding that it's extremely unlikely that the smell would be actually Tauleto, it seemed to be filling the entire street. I bitterly regretted then and regret it now that it doesn't have any staying power or it would be a wonderful gourmet-fruity fragrance.
The solution presented itself some time later. I had bought a Lindt and Sprungli chocolate with blueberries that smelled so intensively of blueberries... I carried the gnawed-on bar in the front pocket of my bag. Sigh. Want the smell bottled.
Random observations
It rained in the morning and generally, it was very close to that weather that says Go and jump under the metro train. It was probably the 'very close' thing that made a difference, I felt fine. The weather changed later on, and then again and again and again.
The issue of Scriptores rerum suecicarum was resolved. Nope, the work is not in the catalog. Why should it be, it's on the shelf in the reference section. Only in the main reading room, there are by sheer guess 100 shelf metres of books, how the hell am I supposed to find something without physically going through that? Sigh. The librarian was however helpful. After reassuring that I had checked the catalogs and that the book actually exists and that there are good reasons why it should also exist in this library, he let me have a form filled, said that it may take a few days, "you know, this is one of the difficult searches", and half an hour later, the three volumes of SRS landed on my table. I wonder whether the difficult search was like this:
Librarian, let's call him Bengt: Hey, Lasse, someone wants this Scriptores wtf thing and we should have it here.
Lasse: Well?
Bengt: It's not in the catalogs.
Lasse: And what it is, then?
Bengt: Scriptores Rerum Suecicarum
Lasse: Gee, it's in the reference library there and there, why should it be in the catalog when it's on the shelves. Them studip readers.
Bengt: goes away
I mentioned it at Ravelry where several librarians live. They headdesked, passed it on to their colleagues and I'm afraid that Royal Library became a bit of laughing stock. Eh.
The issue of Scriptores rerum suecicarum was resolved. Nope, the work is not in the catalog. Why should it be, it's on the shelf in the reference section. Only in the main reading room, there are by sheer guess 100 shelf metres of books, how the hell am I supposed to find something without physically going through that? Sigh. The librarian was however helpful. After reassuring that I had checked the catalogs and that the book actually exists and that there are good reasons why it should also exist in this library, he let me have a form filled, said that it may take a few days, "you know, this is one of the difficult searches", and half an hour later, the three volumes of SRS landed on my table. I wonder whether the difficult search was like this:
Librarian, let's call him Bengt: Hey, Lasse, someone wants this Scriptores wtf thing and we should have it here.
Lasse: Well?
Bengt: It's not in the catalogs.
Lasse: And what it is, then?
Bengt: Scriptores Rerum Suecicarum
Lasse: Gee, it's in the reference library there and there, why should it be in the catalog when it's on the shelves. Them studip readers.
Bengt: goes away
I mentioned it at Ravelry where several librarians live. They headdesked, passed it on to their colleagues and I'm afraid that Royal Library became a bit of laughing stock. Eh.
Friday, 16 October 2009
Some more
There was another knit café (or stitch'n'bitch if you may please) at Marias Garn in Södermalm. That was the first time I didn't get lost while getting up to the surface from the metro.
I found Maria's shop rather easily, first, I checked very well the location on Google Maps, then I made a cross into the mediocre map provided by Stockholmska Something (dunno what exactly L in SL stands for, linjer?) and quite importantly, there was a huge purple and blue skein hanging in place of a banner. I had been told on Thursday that Maria stocks Wood Harmony by Knitpicks and I had wanted to get a set of interchangeables in Florence but didn't manage so today was The Day. I got some yarn, too, and cast on for Laura's scarf. It's a birthday gift, no pictures, she follows the blog.
The weather got lousy and I have a mild suspicion that my last year's SAD may be back. At least when I got off at Gamla Stan to change the metro lines and a train whizzed next to the metro line and I recalled how I had been to Elisabeth's to Linköping and how I'm too much of a chickenshit to even mess around Stockholm itself and even less to go to Vadstena where I'd like to go and where I actually should go... well, within ten minutes, I felt like sitting down to the curb and crying bitterly. The only thing that prevented me from doing it was... the social phobia. People would look funny at me and it would feel too uneasy, you know. Apparently, the whole thing got Uroboros qualities and started biting its own rear.
Knitting apparently has some sort of calming properties, after two hours of messing with the scarf - one day I won't improvise the designs... one distant day, and then I won't be ripping things constantly - I felt just fine. My mood shifts are annoying even to myself.
I found Maria's shop rather easily, first, I checked very well the location on Google Maps, then I made a cross into the mediocre map provided by Stockholmska Something (dunno what exactly L in SL stands for, linjer?) and quite importantly, there was a huge purple and blue skein hanging in place of a banner. I had been told on Thursday that Maria stocks Wood Harmony by Knitpicks and I had wanted to get a set of interchangeables in Florence but didn't manage so today was The Day. I got some yarn, too, and cast on for Laura's scarf. It's a birthday gift, no pictures, she follows the blog.
The weather got lousy and I have a mild suspicion that my last year's SAD may be back. At least when I got off at Gamla Stan to change the metro lines and a train whizzed next to the metro line and I recalled how I had been to Elisabeth's to Linköping and how I'm too much of a chickenshit to even mess around Stockholm itself and even less to go to Vadstena where I'd like to go and where I actually should go... well, within ten minutes, I felt like sitting down to the curb and crying bitterly. The only thing that prevented me from doing it was... the social phobia. People would look funny at me and it would feel too uneasy, you know. Apparently, the whole thing got Uroboros qualities and started biting its own rear.
Knitting apparently has some sort of calming properties, after two hours of messing with the scarf - one day I won't improvise the designs... one distant day, and then I won't be ripping things constantly - I felt just fine. My mood shifts are annoying even to myself.
Thursday, 15 October 2009
Out in the wild
I met knitters.
In case you've forgotten, I sometimes knit. I took one of the nearly eternal sweaters for the way from Italy to Sweden. On the train to Bassano, during the flight from Vienna, in the bus to downtown Stockholm and so on. I finished it two days ago, after having it reknitted two or five times. Since I finished the sweater and since I'm a chickenshit to go shopping for yarn, I had nothing to knit so I was only sitting there. There's another s'n'b on Saturday in a yarnstore so I'll get me some knitting material then.
Stockholm showed me its elusive face again. I got lost. Again. Somehow, the good ole left and right doesn't work the way it should, and the farther bits of the city seem to lack some comprehensive street plan. Or something like that.
On the way back, I waited for the metro and a guy started talking to me. I made a puzzled face, said Studip furriner no speak Swedish, then he asked in nice English whether I had by chance a cough pastille, I said No, sorry, and he apologized for bothering. There's something barren and melancholic about Stockholm's subway stations, they lack the opulent lustre of, say, Moscow or Prague's metro, or that well-inhabited messines of Italian metropolitane, they are neat, spacious and somehow sad. The guy was nice and sort of worn out and the whole situation felt as if it happened in some Aki Kaurismäki movie.
On the way back to Östermalm, I continued being sad. For being a sociophobic chickenshit, for not being able to learn this damn language well enough to grasp more of the general culture. Sigh. I forgot to get to the surface on the right place so I went around the Royal Library. Lousy pic of a place where I spend my days:
It's pretty.
In the hostel lounge, I met Karina, the knitter from Skåne, who, as I reckon, has something to do in Stockholm. I wasn't a chickenshit yesterday when I asked what was that pretty yarn she was using, and today she was finishing another washcloth, we talked for a while. There's that social element about knitting which I totally love. It connects people.
Another hostel dweller started chatting with me and upon seeing that I sort of know Swedish, he managed to make me switch into it (I'm not the worst chickenshit on the world, at least) and then laughed that I sound like a Finn. Erm.... I'm not absolutely sure that it's not a nicer way of saying that I sound like an idiot.
In case you've forgotten, I sometimes knit. I took one of the nearly eternal sweaters for the way from Italy to Sweden. On the train to Bassano, during the flight from Vienna, in the bus to downtown Stockholm and so on. I finished it two days ago, after having it reknitted two or five times. Since I finished the sweater and since I'm a chickenshit to go shopping for yarn, I had nothing to knit so I was only sitting there. There's another s'n'b on Saturday in a yarnstore so I'll get me some knitting material then.
Stockholm showed me its elusive face again. I got lost. Again. Somehow, the good ole left and right doesn't work the way it should, and the farther bits of the city seem to lack some comprehensive street plan. Or something like that.
On the way back, I waited for the metro and a guy started talking to me. I made a puzzled face, said Studip furriner no speak Swedish, then he asked in nice English whether I had by chance a cough pastille, I said No, sorry, and he apologized for bothering. There's something barren and melancholic about Stockholm's subway stations, they lack the opulent lustre of, say, Moscow or Prague's metro, or that well-inhabited messines of Italian metropolitane, they are neat, spacious and somehow sad. The guy was nice and sort of worn out and the whole situation felt as if it happened in some Aki Kaurismäki movie.
On the way back to Östermalm, I continued being sad. For being a sociophobic chickenshit, for not being able to learn this damn language well enough to grasp more of the general culture. Sigh. I forgot to get to the surface on the right place so I went around the Royal Library. Lousy pic of a place where I spend my days:
It's pretty.
In the hostel lounge, I met Karina, the knitter from Skåne, who, as I reckon, has something to do in Stockholm. I wasn't a chickenshit yesterday when I asked what was that pretty yarn she was using, and today she was finishing another washcloth, we talked for a while. There's that social element about knitting which I totally love. It connects people.
Another hostel dweller started chatting with me and upon seeing that I sort of know Swedish, he managed to make me switch into it (I'm not the worst chickenshit on the world, at least) and then laughed that I sound like a Finn. Erm.... I'm not absolutely sure that it's not a nicer way of saying that I sound like an idiot.
Thursday, 8 October 2009
Greetings from Stockholm
The main quest was to get some shoes.
Size 42, black, sans heels. Since I lived in eternal summer for a while and some of my autumn shoes fell apart, I was left with a random pair slightly narrow for my bear paws. Narrow shoes mean that the feet are pressed backwards and this mechanics explains the holes in my heels. I played brave and didn't change the shoes straight away in the shop. After pointe practice, I'm no stranger to pain in the feet and cramped muscles of whose existence I had no previous knowledge but I persevered half a block. Not that the rest of the walk would be easy but now I'm back at the hostel, with my feet propped on a chair.
I managed to get hold of someone who gave me a few hints regarding my biology course. Like, that I should enter my courses in the System. The System is totally user-enmical. Things that could be done in a click or two are done in fifteen. The layout is messy. I have problems understanding what, say, Structure and Properties of Biopolymers means. Which is fine, I'm supposed to study that one in the future but figuring out how some silly studip list of lectures works took me five hours. Alphabetic order is apparently something totally not en vogue at the faculty of natural sciences, nor is some generally discoverable logic. I made up some sort of schedule, submitted it for approval and now, bite it. I'll do whatever I may stumble upon and find interesting (meantime, I sort of arranged an exchange of hard to find U. S. books for yarn - a good part of the annotations adds a list of recommended books that look like hard to find ones. I guess that the staff wants to brag how good their English is or something). And, be assured that I did my best to avoid anything that smelled of lab and had 'practice', 'exercise' or the worst, 'parasitology' in the course description. I'd rather have some mud au naturel, if I may please.
Size 42, black, sans heels. Since I lived in eternal summer for a while and some of my autumn shoes fell apart, I was left with a random pair slightly narrow for my bear paws. Narrow shoes mean that the feet are pressed backwards and this mechanics explains the holes in my heels. I played brave and didn't change the shoes straight away in the shop. After pointe practice, I'm no stranger to pain in the feet and cramped muscles of whose existence I had no previous knowledge but I persevered half a block. Not that the rest of the walk would be easy but now I'm back at the hostel, with my feet propped on a chair.
I managed to get hold of someone who gave me a few hints regarding my biology course. Like, that I should enter my courses in the System. The System is totally user-enmical. Things that could be done in a click or two are done in fifteen. The layout is messy. I have problems understanding what, say, Structure and Properties of Biopolymers means. Which is fine, I'm supposed to study that one in the future but figuring out how some silly studip list of lectures works took me five hours. Alphabetic order is apparently something totally not en vogue at the faculty of natural sciences, nor is some generally discoverable logic. I made up some sort of schedule, submitted it for approval and now, bite it. I'll do whatever I may stumble upon and find interesting (meantime, I sort of arranged an exchange of hard to find U. S. books for yarn - a good part of the annotations adds a list of recommended books that look like hard to find ones. I guess that the staff wants to brag how good their English is or something). And, be assured that I did my best to avoid anything that smelled of lab and had 'practice', 'exercise' or the worst, 'parasitology' in the course description. I'd rather have some mud au naturel, if I may please.
Wednesday, 7 October 2009
On the road runway
Do you know that icky advert for Taft hairspray? Featuring that kitschy blonde with big mouth and big hair? It goes like Morning, Someplace, sunny, your hair looks plasticky all over; Midday, Anytown, windy, your hair holds and holds its excellent plasticky look; Evening, Podunk, sleet, your hair looks the same fugly all over.
Erm, here's one of them. There was a whole series of adverts on TV, all along the same lines. I hated them all. Karma kicked me in the shins so apparently, I live in one nowadays.
Yesterday morning, Larnaka, sunny, 25 degrees dipped in the sea, getting more sun rash to have a nice memory of holidays. Pissed and over-tanned.
Yesterday evening, Vienna, something like rain. Landed in the airport hotel, in a 200 euros room (comfy bed, admittedly, and I damn needed one. And feather pillows). View of a parking house and if I tried hard, of the Terminal 1 and a railway station. Could be 150 trashbins, admittedly.
Today morning, Vienna, there was some weather but I forgot to notice, pissed.
Today noon, Stockholm, changeable, rather cold, pissed and sleep-deprived. I seem to hate travelling.
Two days of near-panic state. I'm tired by all that travelling and there's always that damn social phobia. I apparently have an issue with the North. I look like a native. So, people expect that I'm Swedish or something like that. Which is why I don't speak Swedish. Speaking silly furriner Italian is fun, as a silly furriner, I'm always doing rather well. Silly furriner Swedish when I look like a Swede? Not fun. I should learn a handful of Finnishisms or something to feel better about it. Or I'll stick to English.
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