Glasgow Kissing in Stockholm

Friday morning found me raring to go and waiting outside the Stockholm City museum… about an hour before it opened. Right then.

I was back in Slüssen and curious about the giant right angle that dominates the view, which is created by a lift that rises into mid-air then is connected to the cliff behind by a narrow footbridge. My curiosity about a lift to nowhere didn’t extend to paying 20-something kronor for the privilege, so I took the wooden stairs cut into the cliff, stopping regularly pretend to take photos while gasping for breath, as elderly Swedes leapt past me taking the steps two at a time.

I discovered at the top of the stairs, a theatre. Which is a somewhat odd thing to find at the top of a flight of stairs, but there you go. A beautiful old theatre, in fact, which put me in mind slightly of the Old Vic but bigger and perhaps grander (not least by virtue of its situation at a cliff edge). Making a mental note that it might be interesting to check out some Swedish theatre, I wandered across the square and down a side street, where I was accosted by some teenagers thrusting a microphone in my face and saying things that you don’t learn in Teach Yourself Swedish Chapter 1. I apologised that I couldn’t understand them, and they offered to interview me in English for their student radio station, about my views on Swedish troops being in Afghanistan. My deeply intelligent and worldly response? "Err, I thought you were neutral?" "No, no", they replied. "That was the Second World War". I’m not entirely convinced that they’ve really abandoned 200 or so years of neutrality without telling anyone, but it didn’t seem prudent to argue so I muttered something about it all being a terrible mess and ran away.

My future as a political commentator on Swedish student radio assured, I headed back to the museum. It’s a fascinating building, once the city hall of Södermalm, which sort of cuts into a hillway so you enter by taking a lift three storeys down, then climb back to street level through exhibitions. Such an old building is deeply atmospheric, particularly when you’re the first – and only – visitor on a Friday morning, and so have the place to yourself. I’m reasonably convinced I saw a ghost, or at least, I saw a scraggly-haired man (slightly Viking like, if you squinted and really, really wanted him to be a Viking) sitting at a table in one of the exhibitions who darted away when I entered and promptly disappeared (because of course I followed him, just call me Alice).

The Millennium exhibition on the top floor (which consists mostly of the set of Blomkvist’s desk from the films) reminded me that I’d read you could purchase ‘Millennium maps’ from the museum which point out the various locations in the books.

Guess what I did next?

Guess how excited I was when I discovered that the 7-eleven in which I’d bought an apple for dessert the previous evening was the very 7-eleven frequented by Salander? On a scale of 1 to 10, just how tragic is it to take a photograph of a 7-eleven where you bought an apple and Lisbeth Salander fictionally bought numerous Billy’s Pan Pizzas? Don’t answer that.

I then had to re-trace my steps, as the cliff-top theatre (some call it Södra Teatern) features in the books: Salander and Annika Gianni have a drink there at the end of the third book. It’s also right round the corner from Fiskargatan 1, address of the apartment bought by Salander after she filches Wennerström’s billions. That apartment building isn’t at all how I pictured it. For some reason I had the impression it was a bit off the beaten track, whereas in fact it’s barely a minute’s walk from the theatre. If you lived there, you could roll to the theatre, if you were so inclined. The view, however, is just as described: spectacular. At least, the sight of the matchbox city and icy Baltic Sea is spectacular from the street far below the penthouse apartment; I can only imagine that from the top floor you can see half way to Finland.

There was a terrace at the side of the theatre that appeared to promise a view unbroken by trees, so, noticing that the gates were open, I crept up the stone steps with my camera ready feeling very naughty and trespasser-y. Slithering and sliding over piles of snow and ice (I take it the terrace is more of a summer hangout, then?) I managed a couple of photos before a man emerged from the theatre and shouted something at me. Assuming it was something in relation to the fact that I was trespassing on a clearly shut theatre (it was still mid-morning), I frantically wracked my brain for a way to explain my presence, then with triumphant relief the phrase for ‘what a beautiful view’ popped into my mind so with no further ado I spread my arms wide and announced vilken vacker utsikt with no little gusto,. The look on his face suggested strongly that he hadn’t in fact been asking me what I was doing there and was mildly stunned by my sudden pronouncement on the view. So naturally I did the only thing a cool and sophisticated person such as myself would do; I turned heel and ran. Which isn’t the cleverest of ideas when you’re on a terrace covered in snow and ice.

Looking probably a little like Tom and or Jerry when they run off a cliff, I flailed on the spot for a bit before finally finding a little traction and… skidding a couple of meters at speed and slamming into a statue of August Strindberg. Forehead first. I saw stars and for just a moment thought my forehead might explode, but was still convinced that the confused man was about to make a citizen’s arrest for trespass so dizzily zig-zagged down the steps and back onto Moseback square.

Incidentally, the following morning I passed by the terrace again at around the same time and found it heaving with tourists taking pictures, not one of them running around in a panic and head-butting August Strindberg.