Page 12 iGap travelguide 2023
P. 12
iGap Travel Guide
EXPLORING STOCKHOLM
IN WINTER
Emily Billington reveals why visiting Stockholm in the dark
depths of winter isn’t half as bleak as it sounds.
The steamy window to my left frames a dismal
picture: pines swimming in a loose mist, muddied
snow shovelled into haphazard piles at roadsides, and
weather-stained apartment blocks standing in austere
clusters. At one glaring spot in the aluminium sky, I
notice the sun straining to penetrate the thick cloud.
Suburban Stockholm is bleaker than I imagined, then
again, I am visiting one of the world’s northernmost
capitals in the depths of winter.
It’s a Sunday morning in mid-January, the temperature
is teetering on freezing and I am trundling towards
the city on the metro, past towns with names like
Ängbyplan and Åkeshov. Our carriage is relatively
sparse of faces, other than for a girl with facial piercings
and hair dyed the colour of mustard powder.
Before long the train has been swallowed
underground and sometime later we pull into
T-Centralen – the heart of Stockholm’s metro system
where all three of its lines convene, and where the
girl with mustard powder hair departs. Re-emerging
above ground to cross a bridge, I snatch my first
glimpse of downtown Stockholm; a scene shrouded in
similar subdued tones. A church steeple drowns in the
grey haze of the sky and the river looks like a smashed
mirror, its murky water suffocating beneath a sheet of
cracked ice – a stark contrast to the guidebooks which
show parades of sunflower-yellow buildings against
intense sapphire skies, and red timber summerhouses
clinging to shores lapping with indigo waters. I am
determined to uncover the city’s inner vibrancy even
on this dreary Sunday morning, and my first stop
promises just that.
I disembark the metro at Gamla Stan: Stockholm’s
famous Old Town and a self-confessed tourist trap.
Happily, it is also a concentrated pocket of colour
where medieval buildings in coats of marigold,
apricot and rust-red trim skinny cobbled streets and
border ancient squares, squeezed so tightly together
it’s as if they’re holding their breath. Each hairpin
corner reveals souvenir stores tempting tourists
with carousels of postcards, baskets of plastic Viking
helmets, and flapping Swedish flags, whilst a beguiling
miscellany of cafés and restaurants announce their
presence with protruding signs in all shapes and sizes.
An occasional sandwich board also directs wanderers
to an unassuming side door or alleyway where lurks
an elusive underground bar. It is a rich labyrinth of
a district posing hours of potential meandering,
however, what draws most visitors to Gamla Stan is its
status as Stockholm’s birthplace.
Viking legend has it that in 1252 the desire arose to
relocate Sweden’s centre from Sigtuna, a bay town
further north. In uncustomary fashion, the nation’s
ruler Birger Jarl plonked a log-full of gold afloat on
Lake Mälaren under the premise that wherever it
ended up would become the nation’s new capital.
Shortly afterwards it was discovered moored on
the island of what is today Gamla Stan, and – rather
conveniently for a decision devoid of all logic – it was
agreed by all to be an excellent location; as an island
it was easy to defend, and the adjacent lake promised
important trade opportunities with the Baltic.
Gamla Stan
12
iGap Travel Guide
EXPLORING STOCKHOLM
IN WINTER
Emily Billington reveals why visiting Stockholm in the dark
depths of winter isn’t half as bleak as it sounds.
The steamy window to my left frames a dismal
picture: pines swimming in a loose mist, muddied
snow shovelled into haphazard piles at roadsides, and
weather-stained apartment blocks standing in austere
clusters. At one glaring spot in the aluminium sky, I
notice the sun straining to penetrate the thick cloud.
Suburban Stockholm is bleaker than I imagined, then
again, I am visiting one of the world’s northernmost
capitals in the depths of winter.
It’s a Sunday morning in mid-January, the temperature
is teetering on freezing and I am trundling towards
the city on the metro, past towns with names like
Ängbyplan and Åkeshov. Our carriage is relatively
sparse of faces, other than for a girl with facial piercings
and hair dyed the colour of mustard powder.
Before long the train has been swallowed
underground and sometime later we pull into
T-Centralen – the heart of Stockholm’s metro system
where all three of its lines convene, and where the
girl with mustard powder hair departs. Re-emerging
above ground to cross a bridge, I snatch my first
glimpse of downtown Stockholm; a scene shrouded in
similar subdued tones. A church steeple drowns in the
grey haze of the sky and the river looks like a smashed
mirror, its murky water suffocating beneath a sheet of
cracked ice – a stark contrast to the guidebooks which
show parades of sunflower-yellow buildings against
intense sapphire skies, and red timber summerhouses
clinging to shores lapping with indigo waters. I am
determined to uncover the city’s inner vibrancy even
on this dreary Sunday morning, and my first stop
promises just that.
I disembark the metro at Gamla Stan: Stockholm’s
famous Old Town and a self-confessed tourist trap.
Happily, it is also a concentrated pocket of colour
where medieval buildings in coats of marigold,
apricot and rust-red trim skinny cobbled streets and
border ancient squares, squeezed so tightly together
it’s as if they’re holding their breath. Each hairpin
corner reveals souvenir stores tempting tourists
with carousels of postcards, baskets of plastic Viking
helmets, and flapping Swedish flags, whilst a beguiling
miscellany of cafés and restaurants announce their
presence with protruding signs in all shapes and sizes.
An occasional sandwich board also directs wanderers
to an unassuming side door or alleyway where lurks
an elusive underground bar. It is a rich labyrinth of
a district posing hours of potential meandering,
however, what draws most visitors to Gamla Stan is its
status as Stockholm’s birthplace.
Viking legend has it that in 1252 the desire arose to
relocate Sweden’s centre from Sigtuna, a bay town
further north. In uncustomary fashion, the nation’s
ruler Birger Jarl plonked a log-full of gold afloat on
Lake Mälaren under the premise that wherever it
ended up would become the nation’s new capital.
Shortly afterwards it was discovered moored on
the island of what is today Gamla Stan, and – rather
conveniently for a decision devoid of all logic – it was
agreed by all to be an excellent location; as an island
it was easy to defend, and the adjacent lake promised
important trade opportunities with the Baltic.
Gamla Stan
12
iGap Travel Guide
