Today the old medieval town walls cut off the centre from three lanes of automobile traffic. Where once stood bustling cattle markets now are roundabouts. Thirteenth century tavern houses have become Cafe Nero’s, Subway’s and Fat Face’s.
In the ruined shell of the castle it is still possible to see where the stairs were once cut into the thick stone. Where medieval feet climbed to bedchambers and lookout towers.
The Roman burial mound still rises beside the castle. Nearly a thousand years ago some Briton looked out over the gentle slopes of the garden of England and saw the armored horsemen of Normandy approaching. The knights who would change this misty northern island forever.
Crying seagulls and wind off the ocean.
Blowing up the streets of Regency townhouses from The Promenade. The paint peels from their yellowed fronts with each onslaught of the wet salty air.
Another impulsive trip to Brighton. Proposed on a Tuesday afternoon, by Wednesday at that time they had been sitting on the gravel beach eating delicately presented morsels of fresh sea food and letting the sun burn their pale Northern European skin. To a lobster shade of red.
Sunset in the imperial capital.
An Easter time cycle between the villages of Middle Germany.
We have Soda in London (South of Dalston), Williamsburg in New York, Kreuzberg in Berlin and in Stockholm (probably the best dressed city of it’s relatively small size in the world) there is Sofo (South of Folkungagatan).
Here the ‘modebloggen’ roam the wider, more industrial streets than those of the northern, older islands. It would seem for fashion bloggers in Sweden every day is fashion week and you are Suzie Bubble where freebies and invitations to shows and parties surround you, for most of them it is their full time career and they are regular fixtures at high society fetes, in magazines and on television.
In a city where the cyclist lane does not share the bus lane and crime is at a standstill, bikes line the walls outside of shops and apartment blocks for the most part left unchained. Leisurely leaning on their kickstands aluminium frames absorbing the rays of the northern sun.
A weekend in the trendy south promises parties in converted slaughterhouses and ‘illegal’ unlicensed clubs that manage to sell cut price alcohol (30kr, around £3 for a beer) and stay open until an undefined ‘late’.
Mornings and long afternoons following these exertions can be spent lounging in the Stockholm version of London Fields, which with its church on a hill is decidedly more Sacre Coeur than Hackney Council Parks and Recreation.
But in a place so well ordered even the trees are numbered and a small population ensures that everyone ACTUALLY knows everyone living fast and dangerous becomes somewhat less of an option and is replaced with a life of soda streamers, gym memberships and long walks. Maybe we could all do with more of this…
