- best-of
I felt ridiculous standing in the Oakland airport bundled in snow jackets and negative-forty-degree boots.
Dani and I were heading to Scandinavia. Then Russia for three weeks. Everything we needed fit into a single carry-on backpack each, which left little room for comfort. We had no second pair of shoes, no room but to wear our outer layers. It was February, but I was already overheating.
“Put your bag in there,” the airline agent said at check-in, pointing to me and then the metal sizing frame. “If it’s a carry-on, it needs to fit.”
I swallowed hard. Then I took off the pack, tightened every strap, and shoved.
Technically, it fit.
“Fine.”
The attendant sounded almost disappointed.
He didn’t even bother with Dani’s.
Later, at security, it took Dani and me six bins to fit our apparel.
When my boots and jackets were in the machine, I felt free.
On the plane, I stuffed my them beneath the seat and tried not to sweat through my shirt. Looking around, nobody else was dressed like us.
I had checked the weather before we left—negative thirty and snowing. Still, everyone else wore jeans, sneakers, and light sweaters.
It made no sense.
The more I looked around, the more self-conscious I felt.
Twelve hours later, the pilot announced our descent, and the cabin erupted. Zippers opened, overhead bins slammed, and heavy coats appeared from nowhere. Suddenly there were boots, gloves, and hats.
Within minutes, the entire plane looked exactly like us. Then we all stepped off the plane and into the snowy night.
~
The first time we got lost in Stockholm, Dani was leading.
We had arrived after dark. The city had already closed for the night, and our hostel was a boat floating somewhere about a mile south of the train station.
I wanted to stop every few minutes to take pictures.
Dani wanted a bed.
She eventually made a rule: I could take pictures, but I couldn’t change lenses.
We had taken the wrong bearing almost immediately, although neither of us knew it yet. Dani was certain she knew where we were going, so we followed the coastline.
Neither of us noticed as it curved east toward Kvarnholmen.
Stockholm was beautiful.
That didn’t help.
The old buildings caught the streetlights at an angle that brought the texture of the stone out of the darkness. I kept looking up, stopping, taking another photograph.
Dani kept walking.
Eventually even she admitted the streets weren’t looking familiar.
We had gone miles in the wrong direction.
~
Now we were back to Stockholm.
This time I knew the way. At least I thought I did.
We had taken the airport bus into the city, gotten off near the train station, and started walking through the snow. Our hotel was somewhere south, on Gamla Stan.
I’d been there before.
I remembered the route.
I took the lead.
The city looked different at night, but I knew the general direction. South. Follow the road. Cross toward the old town.
Then the streets stopped matching my memory.
I turned down another street.
Then another.
The snow was coming down harder now. It collected on our jackets and hair, and the wind came across the water. Dani pulled out her gloves, tried to use her phone, then shoved the gloves back into her pocket.
We kept walking.
Eventually Dani stopped.
She pulled out her phone.
A map appeared.
She found the water.
Then the bridge.
We crossed the locks, where ice covered one side and dark water churned through the other. Snow-covered lions blocked the road into the old town. We turned down one alley, then another.
At last, the streets opened onto the old buildings I remembered.
And there it was: the ridiculous dragon statue I remembered from our first trip.
~
An hour later, we were in the snow again looking for dinner.
The building looked grander than I remembered.
Chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Red carpets muffled our footsteps. Even the restroom urinals were motion-activated waterfalls.
Outside, snow whipped across the inky Baltic.
Near the restaurant entrance, a framed menu advertised the seasonal buffet.
Five years earlier, a waiter had told us it was his favorite meal of the year.
We had talked about coming back ever since.
Then I saw the price.
625 kronor.
I pulled out my phone and started working through conversion rates.
Dani, meanwhile, pushed through the heavy glass doors.
I looked at the exchange rate one more time.
Then I followed her inside.
~
The dining room was smaller than I remembered.
Tables lined the windows overlooking the water, while the rest of the room had been squeezed around the kitchen and walls. We were seated near the back, nowhere near the windows.
I looked toward the buffet.
I couldn’t see one.
“I’m going.”
Dani stood and disappeared around a corner.
I stayed at the table.
A group of businessmen in suits sat in the window seats. Beyond them, city lights reflected across the glass.
An older couple sat nearby, dressed in diamonds and evening clothes.
I looked down at my boots.
My jacket hung over the chair beneath a pillowcase the waiter had draped over it.
Dani reappeared carrying a plate.
Smoked salmon.
Pickled herring.
She set it down.
“Why are you still sitting here?”
I stood, while she pointed the way.
~
The buffet was around the corner.
A clover-shaped table filled the room, covered with fish, cured meats, sausages, and northern game.
We took small portions.
Then went back for more.
Reindeer sausage.
Back again.
Reindeer meatballs.
Again.
Reindeer jerky.
Elk burger.
Salmon.
I lost track.
Then I saw the bear.
I’d seen bear on menus around Stockholm but never ordered it.
The hotel here had shaved it paper-thin and arranged it beneath juniper and cloves.
I took one piece.
Then another for Dani.
Back at the table, we looked at each other.
I took a bite.
She did too.
We chewed.
The seasoning was good.
The bear, however, tasted stubbornly like bear.
I put down my fork.
Dani did the same.
~
Near the end of the meal, our waitress approached carrying a basket of bread.
She set it on the table.
We looked at it.
Neither of us had touched the bread all night.
She gestured at it and smiled as she walked away.
We ate the bread.
Later, I asked whether coffee came with dessert.
“No.”
She turned to leave, then stopped.
She looked back at us.
“Because you are tourists.”
Then she brought us coffee anyway.