Stockholm: a midsummer’s dream on a shoestring

21.07.2023 - 11:31 / theguardian.com

Last summer I took a cruise of the Baltic. I wanted to know if a millennial could cruise independently and still have a laugh. (They can. Just.) I was writing a book about fun at the time, and fancied that two weeks of shuffleboard and Nordic stop-offs might prove a decent source of the f-stuff. And so it proved. Though I could have done with more than an hour in Stockholm.

Which is why I’m back in Sweden’s capital: to get a better look at the place, while spending as little as possible. I get off to a flyer (economically speaking) by proceeding to my accommodation on foot. The route I take from the central station to the island of Södermalm is a circuitous one – and fruitful therefore.

By going the wrong way, I see a fair bit. The Royal Palace is about as immodest as they come (it’s got 1,430 rooms, for Thor’s sake). The City Hall is dark-bricked and sharp-elbowed and looks for all the world like the building equivalent of a bouncer. And the public library resembles a squat redbrick wedding cake. I’d have them all in Portsmouth in an instant.

I pick up some bröd and ost (bread and cheese) from a Coop in the old town (Gamla Stan) and proceed to a bench at the edge of the Baltic, where I feast in the face of Stockholm’s celebrated archipelago.

From my waterside spot, I’m able to weigh up my options. There’s Fotografiska, a renowned centre of photography where the salads are as good as the snaps. There’s Moderna, a museum of modern art where you can ponder Picassos until you’re in the mood for a herring. And there’s the Vasa Museum, which contains a warship that went down like a lead balloon in 1628, to the disappointment of the nation, but especially those on board.

In the end, I choose to stay put, content to keep watching the slice of Swedish mellow drama playing out before me. Viz: someone’s forgotten to put the top on their sandwich; another person’s winning at life by drinking a blend of veg while roller-skating topless; and someone else has just had their hotdog snatched by an enterprising fiskmås (gull).

Upon the advice of the gentleman beside me, I hop on the number 80 ferry and do a loop of the inner archipelago for 26 SEK (£1.89). It’s a good-looking spin: sunlit pine forests, bright summer cottages, a chap on a jetski wearing black leather trousers and a white linen shirt unbuttoned to the navel. By the end of my rotation, I’ve formed the opinion that Stockholm must be the only city in the world where the average commuter wishes their journey were longer.

A few things are objectively and indisputably not fun in the slightest; among them Question Time and stubbing your toe. Another is discovering that your room at Skanstulls Boutique Hostel is underground, windowless, and no larger than a