Deviating from my usual British Airways flight, surrounded by Krauts (friendly stab at the Germans, originally derogatory term coined during WWII), I embark on Lufthansa's flight 423 bound for Stockholm, via Frankfurt. Upholding their reputation for being punctual and exact, everything is just so. We even depart prior to our scheduled time since everyone's on board and "vee vant to arrive Frankfurt on time". Beverage and food services are delivered efficiently, including alcoholic beverages which were eradicated from airline services long ago to help combat falling revenues and higher fuel costs. As a traditionalist, I embrace the welcome return of what once was, even though I personally abstain from drinking alcohol on flights.
Frankfurt Airport welcomes me with the smell of freshly baked bread and coffee: Bread is baked on site and there are automatic free coffee dispensers abound satisfying your need for a latte, macchiato, or espresso - just follow the trail of people carrying little red cups and you'll find one of the many stations. Don't bother looking for the decaf option. Europeans are purists.
|Guard at The Royal Castle|
|Pike Heads. Fjaderholmarna.|
Distances in Stockholm are deceptive. An avid runner, I set out to run the morning after arrival (again, reference above paragraph on jet lag) and cover the very outer limits of my childhood territory in thirty minutes. So I run another lap, dodging dainty deer munching tulips and hares with big floppy ears hopping down the middle of the road. Idyllic? Most certainly, yes.
|Roof Top Tours|
Riding the "tunnelbana" - the subway system is easy: all stations have maps, are well marked, and all subway lines are color coded and connect at T-centralen (there are one or two exceptions) and safe. I notice a mother leaving her Baby Bjorn stroller where it can easily be stolen, but the Swedish logic says "what would a drug addict take my stroller for?". And based on what I witnessed, they don't.
|Roda Villan, Fjaderholmarna|
|Water is everywhere.|