Day One in Stockholm: Getting Our Bearings

Zagan the motorhome’s parked up alongside a small marina in central Stockholm, on the island of Skeppsholmen (N59.32438, E18.08844). We’re on the number 65 bus route which runs about 2km to the central train station, and are only 50m from a passenger ferry port to Djurgården with its museums and attractions. We had planned to stay in one of the city-centre motorhome aires, but one was closed for the winter, and the other was 250 SEK per night, while this parking area is only 60 SEK per 24 hours (about £5.50). Normally we’d use secure parking when in a city, but upon arriving here, alongside two other motorhomes (one of which has an 800 SEK month-long parking ticket, THEY’RE STAYING A MONTH!) and sat among Audis, Porches and Land Rovers, we felt it’s about as safe a place as it gets. And get this, there’s an open WiFi network too, woo hoo!

Motorhome Parking on Skeppsholmen , Stockholm

This morning we finally decamped from the free aire in Karlskoga, after naughtily staying a day longer than we should have. Thinking about it, we were after a rest. Sounds a little mad I know, but travelling for months at a time can really do you in, and travelling Norway is a little like riding an untamed stallion. It’s a thrilling experience, but one which we needed a bit of time to get over! We also had some celebrating to do, both our wedding anniversary and the one year anniversary of us reaching financial independence (aka, retiring). A local pub/restuarang (as they’re known here) welcomed us in, and we enjoyed gourmet burgers and craft drinks in a serene yet busy environment. And all for half the price it would have cost in Norway. Cracking.

Nine years of very happy marriage celebrated in style with Swedish Burgers and Chips!

Karlskoga was a pretty calm place, seemingly entirely made up of suburbs, even the centre seemed mainly housing. We spent a while wandering the place and, apart from the multitude of tall poles flapping with long Swedish flags, and folks walking cats about on leads, it all seemed pretty normal. Nothing too exciting happened, apart from being hammered one night with gale-force winds trying to remove Zagan’s satellite dish. The only other thing I spotted were the other ethnicities: Norway’s pretty much mono-cultural, while Sweden has a long reputation for being more welcoming to foreigners living here, and it was evident in the faces and clothes on the town’s broad streets.

Craft beers in Sweden – £6 to £8 a go, and half the price of Norway. A huge thank you to Joanne and Craig from Our Bumble for gifting us their spare Swedish change which bought our first round.

Last night 23 motorhomes stayed on the aire, and all but us were Swedish. We felt guilty at overstaying the 72 hour limit as the last space went, but then more and more vans arrived, including a bus-sized and lovely-looking Concorde. By the evening 8 motorhomes were in the large overflow area, with room for lots more. This morning, even before I’d wound up Zagan’s second steady leg, one of the chaps came over and asked if we were leaving. As he asked in Swedish, I assumed that’s what he asked anyway! Seconds after we left he slotted in and our guilt started to lift.

And we’re off…!

Across 2 hours of toll-free Swedish motorway (A road and dual-carriageway to you and me), we rolled east under a clean blue sky and a warming sun. Nothing in the guidebooks tempted us to stop on the way. Broad fields were fenced in with the yellows and reds of autumn-fading trees, stood stark against the backdrop of evergreens. Wooden buildings re-appeared, reminding us of the tiny Norwegian farms in the far north. Warning: No Fence in 200m signs appeared from time to time, each bearing the outline of a dopey, car-crushing moose.

Swedish motorways – fast and free, perfect

Traffic on entering Stockholm due to roadworks then a minor crash

Crawling through roadworks into Stockholm, we entered the city and had what turned out to be a minor altercation. Cities always seem to throw up some driving challenge or other (Bucharest in Friday rush hour takes the biscuit mind, and throws everything at you with both hands). Stockholm wanted its piece of the action. Turning right off one of the bridges we were confronted with some kind of Zagan assault course. Something akin to driving onto a lift in a garage, sat right across the road. With a bus looming down on us and satnav urging us on, I drove onto it, and half way across, I managed to drop Zagan off it, with a wince and an awful grinding sound. Nasty. Somehow failing to panic, we scraped our way along the other half of the van-trap and bounced out of it, checking the steering and brakes still worked. As we weren’t too far from our destination, we finished the drive, with Ju looking out the back for any signs of brake fluid being spilled on the road. On arrival I gulped and jumped out, expecting to at least find a smashed locker: nothing, no sign of damage but for a scrape on the underside of the exhaust and a missing exhaust rubber. Phew, phew, phew.

Still not sure what this was – maybe a weighbridge?

No studded tyres allowed in Stockholm

Some autumn colours, to calm us down

Since then we’ve had a wander around the island we’re parked on and the small one we’re next to, smiled at the screams coming from the sky-high Gröna Lund fun fair rides opposite us, stared at huge white and red cruise ships hovering past, blotting out the city-scape, got our bearings for the old town and some of the museums, read about the fascinating historical boats now turned into houses and floating around the corner from us, and caught some sun.

Stockholm has a reputation for being a beautiful city. This doesn’t always translate into one we can easily visit by motorhome (with a dog too – yes, I am talking about you Dubrovnik), but so far we’re finding this city to be quite exceptional for us, really wonderful. Watch this space to see how things pan out folks!

Cheers, Jay