Stockholm Memories

Mornings

The sun rises late in Stockholm. Most days, I’m out of bed long before it’s managed to blink the sleep from its great eye and cast some light on the city. As I putter about my apartment, making sausages and eggs on the stove, a predawn glow begins to creep into the sky above the twin spires of Hogalidskyrkan. It never gets old, looking out my window to see the dawn reflected on the copper spires of the old church. It is my own little marvel of architecture, a gorgeous red brick cathedral less than a block from home. From the tall windows in my room, I have a view of half the neighborhood, and the sounds of the church bells tolling the hour are carried in along with the morning breeze. Despite the fact that Sweden, and in fact all of Europe, have yet to discover window screens, I usually leave my windows open. I’ve never lived in a city before, and I find its daily soundscape enjoyable. Well, apart from the one time they tested the national emergency alarm system. 

A faint rustle of feathers alerts me to the presence of a morning visitor, and sure enough, the familiar form of a magpie has perched on the railing of the balcony outside my room. There’s no way for me to tell, but I’d like to imagine it’s the same bird, coming back to visit again. I appreciate the company, but just to be safe I close the window a little, in case my feathered friend decides to live up to her roguish reputation and attempt a sausage heist. 

By the time breakfast is finished and I am out the door on my way to class, the first brushstrokes of dawn are painting the clouds. I make sure to look up at the grand brick edifice of the church as I pass it, even though I have done so before and will do so again. I chose to study abroad for many reasons—some I reasoned out, and others I discovered. These moments, where the marvelous and the everyday meet, are a serendipity I didn’t know I was missing. Around every corner here, some new architectural marvel or peaceful park awaits. There are more museums than I can hope to visit, more trails and paths than hours in the day to walk them. I’ve only been here a month, and I already know I will miss this place when I go. 

But December is a distant prospect—the semester lies ahead, no point in lamenting missed opportunities when I could be pondering possibilities. Or getting a cardamom bun at the Fabrique on the corner by the subway station. Fabrique is an institution in Stockholm, and for good reason—the Swedes love their baked goods, and there’s no better bakery in Stockholm if cardamom buns are what you’re looking for. The first pieces of Swedish I managed to pick up were the few phrases required to order a pastry without immediately outing myself as an American, and I revel in this small linguistic triumph as I descend onto the subway platform. 

The Stockholm subway is clean, punctual, and, as a rule, quiet. Commuters, students, and families keep to themselves—you can tell who the tourists are because their conversations are at least ten decibels louder than everyone around them. For the most part, people read, or listen to music, and I’ve gotten in the habit of doing so too. So, I don my headphones and relax as the train speeds on and Gareth Coker’s melodies fill my ears. 

I know the rhythm of this journey well—I’ve made it nearly every day since I arrived. It was a change, adjusting to a daily commute and an 8 AM morning class, but not an unwelcome one. And despite the familiar names of the stations as they pass, there are some things that never fail to surprise me. 

The oldest part of Stockholm—Gamla Stan, or Old Town—is on a small island, sandwiched between the northern and southern banks of Lake Malaren, where most of the city is built. And for the brief trip across the bridge to Gamla Stan, the train leaves the confines of dark tunnels behind. Suddenly, the window beside me is alight with the golden glow of the sunrise, rising at last from behind the hills to the east. Its resplendent light plays over the domes and spires of some of Stockholm’s finest architecture, and the waters of the lake shine like liquid amber. 

This is a moment worth remembering.