Category: Europe

Subways and semla in Stockholm…

by Gary Patrick Brown, posted in Europe, Sweden

For those of you who followed my adventures in South America, you will know that I booked a surprise trip to Stockholm for my partner, Ken, upon my return in February 2018, to say thank you for supporting my decision to take four months off work while I worked through my mini-midlife crisis. I stepped off the plane in Amsterdam – wearing shorts to the bemusement of the cabin crew – to be greeted by a smiling Ken, who had just read my latest blog and was therefore aware of the surprise trip. If you’re wondering why Stockholm, you can read about it in this post.

It seems we have a knack for surprises in our relationship as, unbeknownst to me, Ken had gone to the UK to pick up the cats the previous week and they were at the door to greet me when I got home. Having been away for so long, it was a special homecoming. However, Ken took it one step further, as I discovered when going to the bedroom to change clothes only to be greeted by my best friend, Leah, who he’d picked up in the UK on the way back to the Netherlands. I was somewhat overwhelmed to be honest, and the endorphin rush was intense, like after a good workout. Or so I’m told. Perhaps I should go to a gym if it really does feel this good afterwards.

Unfortunately, our flight to Stockholm was booked for the following morning, so we said tot ziens to Leah and the cats, with promises to take her to her favourite restaurant on our return to the land of orange, evidenced above!

Ken and I haven’t really been on holiday in the 18 months we’ve been together, save for a few day trips in the Netherlands, so the upcoming 24/7 would be a new experience. We treated ourselves to some bubbles in the lounge despite the early hour and soon found ourselves on the Arlanda Express – how bloody much?!?!?!!! – whizzing our way to the city centre. I had booked a cute AirBnB apartment that didn’t disappoint. Despite it’s small square footage, it was designed perfectly and was very gezellig. Not that we spent that much time there. No, we came for the subway stations and unfortunately they require being outside. Well, underground, but you know what I mean.

As we had three days in the city, we took it easy on day one, exploring the narrow streets of Gamla Stan (the old town), and it wasn’t long before I persuaded Ken to partake in a spot of fika at Chokoladkoppen, a cute cafe on the main square. Thankfully they were still serving semla buns (they’re only available at certain times of the year, and you can read more about the tradition here) and it didn’t take me long to demolish one. Given that eating out in Stockholm is so expensive it requires remortgaging one’s dwelling, we took advantage of the fully stocked kitchen and had dinner at the apartment that evening.

The next day was bright and sunny, but perishingly cold, so we decided to save being underground for the following day when the weather was due to be overcast, and instead took a boat around the archipelago. The guide was very engaging and informative, and Ken was very happy being on a boat, despite spending most of his adulthood on one having first worked in the Merchant Navy before pursuing a career as a marine engineer! It may, however, have been the hearty soup and dubious looking shot glass of liquor that put a smile on his face. By the time we returned to the dock, the temperature had turned even more baltic so we made a pit stop at H&M to buy some gloves for Ken and an extra jumper for me. I then managed to persuade him to allow me to push the boat out – it didn’t take much to twist his arm to be honest – and eat at an amazing looking restaurant we passed by the evening before.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t put it off anymore, it was time to do what we came to Stockholm to do, namely tour the subway to view the art installations. Unlike Ken I’m not a transport geek, nor do I know anything about art beyond imitating Patsy Stone (‘yeah, but is it art?’), however seeing Ken’s growing excitement – wait, that sounds rude – gave me a fuzzy feeling inside, and after all, I brought him here to make him happy. Mission accomplished it seemed.

I don’t often ride the metro in Amsterdam, but I know that if I lived in Stockholm – not that I’m willing to sell a kidney to do so – I’d look forward to getting on the tunnelbana every day. Words I never uttered during the 12 years I rode the Tube in London! Perhaps Ken’s enthusiasm was catching. The T-bana stations are truly incredible, as you can see from the photos below. I’m heading back to Stockholm this weekend for a tournament with Amsterdam Netball Club and I’m already looking forward to introducing them to these magnificent structures.

HUVUDSTA

RÅDHUSET

RISSNE

SOLNA

STADION

T-CENTRALEN

TEKNISKA högskolan

TENSTA

THORILDSPLAN

UNIVERSITEIT

Giethoorn – the ‘Venice of the North’…

by Gary Patrick Brown, posted in Europe, Netherlands

I moved to the Netherlands in June 2014 and vowed that I would do my utmost to visit as much of the country as possible if I was going to call it home. I soon learned of a village called Giethoorn in the Overijssel province. It is inaccessible by car and has plenty of walking and cycling trails, but more excitingly, canals for boating. Now, you may be struggling to see the appeal for an Amsterdammer to go somewhere like Giethoorn considering that my home city is not exactly lacking in canal action itself and which also bears the moniker of ‘Venice of the North’ – why come up with a new name when this one can, quite frankly, be applied to almost every Dutch city? Anyway, I digress.

My boyfriend’s birthday was fast approaching and we had discussed going away somewhere for a few days. Respite was much needed having just spent four days in my one-bedroom apartment in the company of my mum, sister and nephew, so the pictures of Giethoorn conjured up what I thought would be the perfect tonic.

I approached a couple of Dutch friends and colleagues asking for recommendations and they were nothing if not consistent in their advice: “don’t bother going, it’s full of Chinese tourists”. Unbeknownst to the Dutchies, however, this was actually a draw for me having spent the last three years feeling like a midget in this land of blonde giants. It’s also why Japan remains my favourite holiday destination, that and, well, everything else. Although if I never saw another squat toilet it’d be too soon. I thought I had the requisite thigh strength, but the splash back confirmed otherwise. No wonder the Japanese live so long though; they’re super supple.

I booked a room at Chateauhotel de Havixhorst which turned out to be nothing like a chateau. Or a hotel for that matter if it’s lack of toiletries, mini bar and room service were anything to go by. It was however conveniently located near Giethoorn and we set off in our rented wheels.

The following day we drove the 20 minutes to the outskirts of Giethoorn, admiring the many storks in the neighbouring fields which were protected in the area. We found this out thanks to a kindly old woman who humoured our basic Dutch having struck up a conversation in the hotel bar one night. Unlike her husband, who was rather rude when I got stumped on a word and switched to English. Thankfully I’m fluent in eye-rolling.

We picked up our handmade, wooden ‘fluisterboot’ which glided silently through the calm waters and after a simple demonstration we set sail. Without a sail, natch. After a couple of hours we still hadn’t seen a Chinese tourist (as you can see from the below video), but we did see what all the fuss about; Giethoorn is simply stunning. Each dwelling on it’s own little island with well kept gardens (you’d have to really with all the gawpers) overflowing with rhodedendrons.

It was also really cool teaching our dog, Max, to swim.

We were allowed to keep the boat for nine hours and took full advantage, exploring all three of the recognised routes. We decided to navigate the main canal line one more time as sunset was approaching and I thought we’d get some Instagram-worthy pictures. But what is that I see over the bow? Why, it’s a million Chinese tourists, 999,999 of whom had never driven a boat if the carnage below was anything to go by.

It was time to return the boat and drive back to the hotel and avoid the mean old man. Unfortunately the lack of a mini-bar in our room (I promise I’m over it now) meant that we had to chance the communal bar but thankfully he was nowhere in sight. In fact, no one was, so we clinked our glasses in peace and toasted an awesome day in a beautiful part of this awesome country. I think I did pretty well for a first birthday present all in all.

Sailing the Dalmatian Coast…

by Gary Patrick Brown, posted in Croatia, Europe

My trip to South America in 2017 a.k.a. the reason this blog exists in the first place, was that year’s birthday present to myself, a tradition I started a few years previously having grown up in a family environment which didn’t really go in for an annual celebration of ageing. Over the past twenty years or so, I’ve treated myself to a foreign escapade around my birthday in October, one of which was a week sailing along the Dalmatian Coast in Croatia.

My friend Neil had mentioned in passing that he was thinking of booking such a trip, so I naturally invited myself along. I had never been on a sailboat, nor to the Balkans, nor on a holiday where the vast majority of my fellow travellers would be strangers. We booked our trip with G Adventures; mainly because it was reasonably priced, they had availability on our desired dates and, probably, most importantly if I’m being brutally honest, they mentioned that one could do ‘as little or as much’ sailing as one liked which immediately led to me envisioning a reenactment of the ‘Rio’ video by Duran Duran (yes, I’m quite old). This ‘no mandatory sailing assistance’ didn’t entirely eventuate however as we were all given a task to perform when it came to docking or setting sail, although in fairness, when we were on open water, it appeared a similarly lazy disposition afflicted most of my crewmates as the skipper – a delectable Scot called, um, Scott – pretty much did everything.

Our trip began in Split, although it wasn’t the best of starts when the bus driver looked at me rather strangely when I insisted on paying the fare with Czech Koruna, before it dawned on me that, indeed, I had exchanged £300 worth of useless currency at Gatwick. Having gotten over that hump thanks to a stray five euro note I found lurking in my wallet, which was accepted with less chagrin, we spent a couple of relaxing days in Split, drinking cheap beer on the beach while watching the native men playing ‘picigin’ in the tiniest of speedos and wondering how this sport was not yet part of the Olympic programme. I soon realised I would love Croatia.

We made our way to the harbour to step aboard our home for the next week and meet the rest of our crew; everyone – well, nearly everyone – was lovely and bonding didn’t take very long.  The first day we were taught how to tie the “relatively simple” knots which were necessary to secure the boat when docked in the harbour each evening. I subsequently spent the next hour getting entangled in what I can only describe as a supersized game of cats cradle (if you don’t know what that is, you probably spent your formative years in the 90s or later). I’d like to think I’m a relatively intelligent person, and I was surprised to discover that knots are my achilles heal, along with saying no when my boyfriend suggests we have our ‘pizza Sunday’ tradition on Tuesday. And Wednesday.

We sailed along the coast, pausing for breaks in glorious bays where we would sunbathe and eat lunch, before heading to an island to drop anchor for the night. For the first couple of days, neither Neil nor I partook in a spot of swimming, mainly because we were both embarrassed to mince around in our rather skimpy swimwear having spied board shorts on our fellow male traveller, a strapping, married Australian called Zak. However, in Hvar, there were some nice shops so I wandered around looking for a pair of swimmers which covered rather more of my nether regions than those I had packed. I soon happened upon an amazing topaz pair, festooned with pink octopi (octopodes? I always get it wrong!). The price tag, however, was not quite so amazing at EUR 400! FOR A PAIR OF SHORTS!!! Resigning myself to not swimming for the entire week – although I’m more of a frolicker than a swimmer anyway – I headed back to the boat to get changed for our first big night out to celebrate the 60th birthday of another shipmate, Christine from Australia. This trip was her birthday treat to herself which made me feel warm inside; a kindred spirit.

Trying to get from dinghy to shore proved to be rather tricky
following a few celebratory pre-dinner proseccos

We all shared an amazing dinner before heading to a bar for more drinks and dancing. The dancing, at least on my part, didn’t last too long as I sprained my ankle doing the running man on the cobbled floor. What kind of bar has a cobbled dancefloor?! The kind of bar located in a country where there obviously isn’t a claim where there’s blame! I headed back to the boat alone and left the others to party. I had not long hunkered down in the tiny cabin I shared with Neil when the door opened and I felt someone get in the bed and put their arms around me. Turning around to remind Neil that we didn’t have ‘that kind of a friendship’, I was confronted with the drunkenly grinning face of Zak who had wandered into the wrong cabin, followed in the morning by the sight of him wearing the teeniest pair of black swimming trunks I’d ever seen. Praise be! I could now frolic to my heart’s content.

Over the course of the week, we sailed to Hvar, Korčula, Mljet, Ploče, Brač, Lastovo, Solta and Dubrovnik. We all contributed to a kitty to buy ingredients for meals onboard the yacht, with each person taking turns to cook for the others. I celebrated my birthday in Mljet, wearing a sailor’s outfit which my crewmates had presented me with earlier that day.

My new friends presented me with an amazing chocolate cake after dinner, one that a nearby Australian took a fancy to and – having drunk our fair share of vino – to whom we said could have the rest if he showed us his willy. Without hesitation he started unbuttoning while both dining parties and the waiting staff guffawed. A deal is a deal so after the dining room gave him a round of applause, we proffered the rest of the gargantuan gateau. His girlfriend returned from the bathroom and, having learned where the cake came from, turned to congratulate me. We heard her ask her fellow diners ‘so what? He just gave us his cake?’ to which her boyfriend responded with details of the bet. She went mental and we soon scarpered, which is hard to do with any grace on a swollen ankle.

There are many things I’ll remember from that trip: sleeping under the brightest stars I’d ever seen, on an island called Lastovo which, thanks to its location, has the darkest night sky in all of Europe; being awoken on my birthday ridiculously early, only for my morning grump to immediately dissipate when Michelle pointed out the group of handsome Croats dive-bombing off their boat wearing nothing but their birthday suits; spending ten minutes convincing a Croat that I was indeed competent enough to rent a moped despite having nearly stacked it when turning the key in the ignition for the first time, before whisking my fellow crewmate, the lovely Peta (another Australian), up the local mountain for some breathtaking views; and being persuaded by Skipper Scot to be hoisted up the mast while the boat is moving in order to take a group photo because ‘each trip someone does it’, only to later find out that nobody does it because they’re not stupid!. But most of all I’ll remember the never-ending giggles that accompanied every moment of every day. A few years later I stayed with Peta for a few days when I visited Sydney and we picked up right where we left off. I think that’s the thing I love most about travelling; the people you meet along the way who, in turn, open up a whole new world of travel possibilities.