The Pug Life

It goes without saying that the highlight of a week-long February trip to Sweden relied largely on the friends I was visiting. But this somewhat underscores the significance of pugs.

It's a long story. To make it shorter, Clare's love of the pug parallels my love of the sausage dog. And when we were in China, she had a pug waiting for her back home in the UK. Paddy, the grumpy black pug, was later joined by Noah, the humpy happy pug. It was perhaps an emotional plea by Clare's parents to get her back in the same continent. It eventually worked.

So meeting the pugs felt epic.

Even if they were not keen to have their pictures taken, we all spent a cozy night in cooking and laughing and talking at Clare's gorgeous little studio flat. And for a moment, balance was restored.

Like I said, long distance friendships has its highs and lows. For a week, I got the highs.

Gothenburg

Gemma and I bid a temporary farewell to Clare and Malmo in order to head up the coast to the city of Gothenburg, Swedens' second city. Because Scandinavia, trains were frequent and quick. Three point five hours later, we arrived, eventually making our way across the Gota River, which feeds into an arm of the North Sea. Trade's the thing in this city and ships, cargo cranes and docks dotted the waterway. Frequent daylight- only ferry boats take pedestrians across the water for free and one happened to be right outside our hotel. 

Our hotel also boasted a series of rooftop views and hot tubs, both in and out of doors. Pretty stunning place to perch overall:

The weather was cold but not bitterly so and so we wandered to see the excitement of Gothenberg's various areas. I mean, excitement was muted but took the form of book shops, craft shops and odd statues including one very unimpressed man:

As we wandered, the city seemed to be moving between work and fika and home. And so made our way to the Haga district of town, home to what we hoped would become The Ultimate Fika. As we searched, items of coziness found us:

And given more sun/warm weather/sunshine, I reckon the cobbled pavement would be lined with pets, people and their paraphernalia.  

        

The perk of shortened daylight hours seemed to be the onset of happy hour. We'd been recommended Gothenburg's local Steampunk Bar, called, in fact, Steampunk Bar. We were not disappointed. From the decor, to the friendly multilingual hipster bartenders, to the tragically hip 500-gins gin menu, we spent several hours nattering away.

 

 I mean, it wasn't cheap. Or remotely cheap. But dry ice in your cocktail is good medicine. And so, several gins in, we stumbled slowly home, trying to navigate where to buy bus tickets and not quite succeeding. But no one stopped us and so we enjoyed a free ride back to our little hotel perch.

Malmo

The Copenhagen morning after the night before, we stumbled, only slightly hungoverly, sans map, from one small city to another. Fortunately, trains work efficiently in Scandinavia and Malmo is roughly the size of a postage stamp; the old town lies almost directly in front of the train station. It's charming and laden with history, despite its petiteness.

Our hotel boasted an excellent breakfast and endless coverage of the 2018 Winter Olympics. Sweden does quite well in various snowy events so they cover all their bases. Over the course of the week, Gemma, Clare and I discovered the finer points of training to be an Olympic: curler, two-man skeleton rider, ski jumper. All quite technical and somewhat terrifying.

This perhaps underscores the winter Swedish mindset. There's a lot of inward turning and the streets seemed relatively empty. But people were also at work, at school during the day. Post-these hours, the cafes were filled to the rafters. We learned the fine art of Fika, a comment reserved for its own blog entry itself.

The pictures may not indicate this but Malmo also has a thriving food culture. From tacos to tapas, people like to indulge in some finer dining. It comes at a price and in this way, Sweden lived up to the reputation.

 

 And every way we turned, we were greeted with a quiet beauty. And clear air, blue skies, the total opposite of China, the last environment Clare, Gemma and I found ourselves in at the same time. We took Paddy and Noah, Clare's pugs, for a wander down by her:

 

 

 Passing the 'Twisting Torso' a low high-rise forming a part of the distant Malmo skyline:

 In one of the more commercial parts of the city, we found other charms:

  Including a vibrant art scene:

 Some old-world beauty:

 And a lady with a pigeon on her head:

I won't lie, Malmo's a bit sleepy for my liking. But I get why people like it here. And, at least for the moment, Clare is happy here. It's Shanghai's inverse with better pastries and better coffee.

Copenhagen Reunions

Sometimes the delights of a good city take a back seat to the delights of seeing great friends you maintain a relationship with via WeChat. As such, I stepped off the plane in Copenhagen and into two sets of squealing arms for the February half term break. There was jumping and hugging and dancing in a circle.

Later, there were cupcakes and sparkling wine, served to us by an American expat who'd grown up in Romeo, Michigan. Small world indeed. I think she squealed when she got to the bottom of the 'where are you from' question.

Copenhagen's weather didn't exactly play nice but we didn't mind. From lunch, to a brief wander to walk off Gemma's Ho Chi Minh to Frankfurt to Copenhagen jetlag, to our hotel's 'Honesty Bar', we set the world to rights in the way that only true friends can.

 

Too many gin and tonics and a pizza ordered directly to our hotel lobby later, Clare threw in the towel and returned to Sweden, a feat that sounds much more exotic than the actual 20-minute train ride it is. Gemma and I retreated to a room with ample heating, donning hoodies and big socks, and tucked ourselves into a pair of single beds. Because friendship is a warm pair of fuzzy socks.

 I love my people. Even if I only get to see them once in a blue moon.