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After a few days in Stockholm, we’re off eastwards to Russia. We’re booked into a cabin on the Viking Line service to Helsinki. It’s an overnight voyage which docks for an hour at Aland Island to let some passengers disembark and others to join before continuing to Finland. An added benefit of the sailing are views at this time of year.
Outside of the city sits another rousing Palace, that of Drottningholm – the official residence of the Swedish Royal family. It’s grounds stretch for what feels like miles, with beautiful expansive gardens, a wide boulevard of perfectly aligned trees, and a large central lake reminiscent of a small province.
We walk out from our suburban hotel. It’s hot and sunny. I quickly discover that footpaths in Sweden are also half cycle lane. We pass strange looking flats and neighbourhoods that appear almost shabby, if not distinctly Nordic in style. Needless to say, the residents are all smartly dressed with shiny expensive cars parked out front.
My journey to Scandinavia takes an abstract form. Due to Lufthansa’s odd route network, we must connect through both Frankfurt and Munich, before jetting onwards to Stockholm. It’s a full day travelling, and I could have flown to Asia in the equivalent time, but I’ve never been one to complain about the gift of flight.
