A good Saturday

10 days ago, very early in the morning, this is what I saw as I was eating my Pret breakfast. Seeing hen parties as you sit and wait to board an 8am train is a bit nerve wracking, as all you want is a quiet carriage and a pleasant journey. Fortunately the two groups we saw were getting on the Paris train, and not ours to Amsterdam.

It was time for a repeat trip to my home from home with D & A, a year later. A had the foresight to bring playing cards and we warmed up with this game, where you didn’t want to end up with the queen of hearts. Such a fun and simple one, with lots of tension. And yes, D picked it up here.

The four hour journey goes really quickly when you play cards. We realised that we might be the last generation who play regular card games, as I can’t imagine today’s kids being that interested, when you have games like Exploding Kittens etc. I have to teach Oomoo this though, which I hadn’t played in 20 years. Shithead is such a brilliant game, the perfect mix of strategy and luck, and the fact that your hand can change very quickly, from good to bad and back again makes it really fun.

Arriving in Amsterdam is really easy now that my friend Z lives in Noord. Once we arrive at Central Station it’s a five minute tube ride, and boom there we are.

Just like last year we headed straight to Liever Hier for lunch, and this time we got a great table, so great that we stayed there for a couple of hours, eating incredibly well and catching up.

The table was hidden amongst the tall grass (much taller than last year)

and Z picked some to take home

as well as some cow parsley.

I asked Z to take a seat here as I wanted a picture of the café (to the left of yellow tree) and just as I took the picture this woman and her dog walked past and made it complete. Smiles all around.

We then heard the unmistakeable sound of a Solex tour.

Look how happy they are! Such a good idea.

Here’s a clip I filmed last summer when we got overtaken on our pushbikes by a tour. If you cycle north for 10 minutes from Z’s front door you arrive in the countryside. Didn’t manage it this time round, but there’s always the next trip.

After our long meal we needed to stretch our legs so we walked around this little inlet and admired the light catching on the lily pads.

A did some tree bonding too.

We then spent the evening on Z’s balcony and felt very pleased by the fact that we hadn’t even ventured into the city centre. I realised on the last trip to Amsterdam last August that I can’t keep up my usual tempo on city breaks anymore, and that maybe less is more after all.

So here’s to more balcony hangs in the future 🧡

A Sunday morning walk in Stockholm

We stayed in the Kungsholmen neighbourhood, and one morning me and mum went out for a walk along Norr Mälarstrand, in the sun, which I think was only out twice the whole time we were there. I spotted this lady resting in her boat, and had to get closer.

Oh wow, she really had it worked out. An old record player playing I can’t remember what, coffee, not just in a thermos but with an actual cup, and is that a toaster I see below it? Impressive.

Ahh, just looking at these pictures is a sight for my sore eyes. I’m so over this winter; it’s been incredibly long, cold and weird, but spring will come one day, and hopefully the sun too.

A dog on a bench is always funny.

And a dead rat maybe less so. We couldn’t see that it had been injured or killed, so maybe it just died of old age, a bit too publicly.

Concertina building.

We made sure we captured the autumn colours.

Some people really know how to make the best of Sundays, don’t they? I need to master that.

I saw a couple of people swim, and as usual I hadn’t packed my bathing suit. When will I learn?! My friend M (my Swedish cold water swimming buddy) moved back to Stockholm last summer, and has kept up with it. It doesn’t seem like it’s as popular there as it is here, but maybe that’s to do with it being a lot colder there in winter. She’s sent me beautiful footage and pictures from her new swimming spot, and in one of the pictures she’s hacked herself a hole in the ice, by the ladder going into the water. She’s got a massive smile on her face and there’s just enough space for her to stay holding on to the ladder, with solid ice all around her. If that’s not a Viking I don’t know what is.

A little summation of sorts

The 12 or so days that I spent in Stockholm for my godfather’s funeral and the subsequent logistics that had to be organised post-funeral, were actually rather good. My sister A flew in from LA, my mum from the south of France and me from London, all of us landing within an hour of each other. I remember seeing the moon while I queued at passport control; it was unbelievably huge and the sky a perfect gradient of colours, and it felt like Lasse had somehow commandeered the sky for it to be that beautiful at that very moment. Like a sign saying “Don’t worry, it’ll all work out.”. And you know, it really did. We experienced what felt like being in flow for the whole time we were there. Everything did just seem to work out. It was both little and big things that happened that made what could’ve been a really hard time relatively smooth. The car that my sis had rented wasn’t available, so we got an upgrade instead. Mum’s best friend, who was away for the time we were there, offered us her flat for us to stay in (what timing!), and there was a parking spot just outside the apartment block when we arrived (and almost every time we came back from somewhere). Or like texting my cousin at 7am the same morning as the funeral (I’d forgotten to let her know in the midst of it all what had happened - she’d grown up knowing him too), sending the details, in case she could make it. She could, as her office was only a 20 min drive away. Or how quickly I found a lawyer to deal with the will, and how she made everything that felt overwhelming a much easier thing to go through. Or how, after dinner at my other cousin’s place on the opposite side of town, the only local bus you could take, went all the way to the bus stop right by the flat we were staying in. Or how, when out on a walk with my mum, we bumped into the son-in-law of her friend who’s flat we were staying in, which resulted in us being invited over for lovely dinner with her friend’s daughter and grandchildren. We didn’t force anything, and just simply let each day take its own shape, and let ourselves be guided by what had to be done, keeping an open mind to whatever arose. We kept saying that Lasse was somehow giving us a helping hand, making it all easier, when it could’ve been the worst of times.

I hadn’t really cried until we went round to Lasse’s flat to try and make a start on tidying things up a bit. When we entered the scent of the it was exactly the same as when he lived there, and that’s when it really hit me. He was never coming back.

We found his jacket that he used to wear all the time, still holding the shape of his body within, even though he hadn’t worn it for years. As much as we hoped that it would fit one of us, it was simply too big. My dad has it now, as a memento.

On the day we saw him, while we were talking, it came up that he was asked if there was something he really fancied having, as a treat, just days before he died. He asked for an ice cream sandwich. So after our hour with him was up, we thought we’d buy some and give him a farewell toast in Kungsträdgården, the park in which we had spent endless hours with him when we all were younger. Here we are saying “Skål Lasse!” as we did so, although my sister H had to forgo the dairy with a hot drink instead. It felt right to do something so funny/eccentric, as it was so like him. I think I’ll go and do the same every time I go back to Stockholm. A little personal hello and a sweet moment of remembrance.

We also laughed when we realised that the day we’d gone to see him was Halloween. He would’ve loved to have known that.

I think it’s quite common that at the time when someone dies, you look for signs or imbue meaning in things, to feel that that person is still with you. When we arrived at the cemetery for the funeral there were two moose in the field next door, munching away, without a care in the world. I have NEVER seen wild moose in my life. What were the odds of seeing them just then and there? Surely this was the work of Lasse again?!

The burial itself was slightly surreal. We women had to stay behind for the whole ceremony as the imam and the men present said the funeral prayers. My dad had organised it all through his local mosque, and had also bussed in friends from around Stockholm for a proper send off. I thought it wonderful that my white Swedish godfather’s funeral was so multi-cultural, which really reflected on him and his life. He travelled extensively in Africa and Asia in the 60’s, so it made sense that this was how he was laid to rest.

As a result of the funeral I got to see and properly hang out with my mum, who I hadn't seen since 2019. No offence to my husband or son, but to just be a daughter/sister this time, and have time on my own with my family felt so special. Also, the last day, before the three of us who live elsewhere left, we realised that it was Lasse’s birthday. We picked up dad on the way and drove out to Lasse’s grave to sing him Happy Birthday, and that evening we went out for dinner, just me, mum, dad and my sister A. We realised that it was the first time we’d all sat down together for a meal, just the four of us, since my parents divorce in 1988. See? Another little helpful nudge 😉

I’ll never forget those two weeks, which in despite of everything, felt like a gift. In fact I know it was. Tack Guffar.

Elsewhere and at other times

I’m the sort of person that goes to bed on holiday with the camera next to me, in case I wake up in the morning and see something I want to take a picture of. You never know what you might wake up seeing.

Z and D having a little early morning chat. We were surprisingly fast for four people to get out of the house and on our way.

Tourist pic time!

A managed to prop her phone up on Z’s bike so we could all be in the picture - in front of the windmill. Came out really good!

I wanted to repeat the perfect Sunday (on a Sunday again - nice!) so off we cycled to Het Schoolhuis in Holysloot for some lunch.

Got the best table in the garden. Thanks Z for the pic :0)

After lunch we picked out a scenic spot and meditated together. One of my favourite memories of the whole trip.

We then went for a little walk in the ‘hood. D & A spotted

this guy, before we did.

Time to cycle back into town.

This man caught my eye, and clocked me taking his pic, and I made sure I smiled at him, because that’s what a polite person does. Makes for a nice shared moment rather than being a picture taking robot that just continues on without acknowledging the other person involved.

Had to stop and take another picture on Haarlemmerstraat, this time of this building that looked heavily influenced by Alphonse Mucha.

See what happens when you smile and take pictures of strangers? You get smiled at back.

Walking through Westerpark this caught my eye. Kudos to anyone who bothers to bring a hammock to a park.

Our destination? Rainarai of course. We tried to dent the massive portions as much as we could, and delicious as usual it was too. I know it looks like A is ‘gramming’ here, but she isn’t. Not everyone carries a big camera innit.

And on the way home we had to stop and get off our bikes to look at the incredible full moon. Alas, this lady doesn't travel with a zoom, but take my word for it, it was huge.

On the Monday morning the peonies that Z had bought had opened up; I’ve never seen peonies this colour in the UK.

This was the day that we went to the Rijks, and moseying around the Jordaan afterwards we had a nosy in this empty house. Some jammy sod must’ve moved in there by now.

While we’re looking at houses, let’s look at some more. These are at the edge of the Red Light district, in fact just around the corner from Ons Lieve Heer.

I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve been to Amsterdam by now, but I always do a little research before I go, and somewhere I came across pictures of this bar, In’t Aepjen. Amsterdam’s bruin cafés (pubs) have never really been on my radar before, but I remember walking past one that looked really cosy last time me and Oomoo where there (in fact the interior of it inspired me to get rid of our white walls at home), and thinking that I’d really like to go to one one day. Well, child free this time round we went, and lovely it was too. It was very small, but not packed and loud like a pub can be, and we tried some jenever for the first time, which gets served all the way to the top of the glass, like in the picture to the left. You then have to kind of bow into the glass to have your first sip. Fun!

D saying something… surprising/shocking? Whatever it was I missed out, but it was worth it. Love the reactions.

We only stayed for one drink, and this was what met us as we came out. ‘Hope for another life’ it says, according to Google Translate. Maybe that is what it says - but I don’t trust GT.

These guys obviously didn't stop at one drink. Maybe they were hoping for another life.

D, on the Eurostar, on the way home. So there you go, that was our girls’ trip to the Amsterdamsch, something we dreamt up last summer, when we saw A for the first time since all the lockdowns, and wanted to make up for lost time. Having this trip as something to look forward to, all the way back then, was invaluable. I hope we’ll do plenty more of them.