I started the day without much of a plan, which is a bit of a luxury in a city like this. The weather was mixed—one of those indecisive Swedish winter days—and I found myself caught between two very different ideas. I was weighing up a trip to Vaxholm, a gateway to the archipelago reachable on the 83 Ferry, against a visit to Liljevalchs, which is an art gallery on Djurgården. Liljevalchs is a bit like the Archibald in Australia; it has that same sense of community and cultural prestige.
I reached the ferry terminal still undecided. The uncertainty of Vaxholm loomed large: would I really want to spend a few hours wandering a snowy, icy island when it was so wet and cold? Liljevalchs felt like a safer, shorter bet that would leave me plenty of time to catch up with a friend later. In the end, I pivoted entirely. I realised what I really wanted was to see the ice on the water from a proper vantage point, so I booked a one-hour cruise.
While waiting to board, I retreated to the Grand Hotel for a coffee and, predictably, another cinnamon bun. It was a lovely, warm prelude to the trip. The cruise itself was far better than I expected. I’d worried it might be too touristy or a waste of time, but the director gave a fantastic commentary on Stockholm’s history and recent developments. The highlight, though, was the moment we hit the frozen patches. Hearing the hull crunch through the ice was an amazing, visceral experience—exactly what I’d been looking for.
Afterwards, on a whim, I headed over to the Royal Palace. The King doesn’t actually live there, but it’s where he spends much of his working time, and it houses some incredible museums. I had a brilliant experience inside. They provide portable chairs that you can carry with you as you move through the galleries, which is such a thoughtful touch. It allowed me to take in the exhibits without the usual physical toll of standing and walking for hours.
The staff were also incredibly proactive. Because I had my trouser leg rolled up, they identified my disability immediately and asked if I’d like to use the lift. I took it to the top floor and was able to enjoy a leisurely walk back down the grand staircases—a much more manageable way to experience the scale of the place.
I headed back to Skanstull for a quick rest before meeting a friend, Mattias, at Himlen. Mattias and I have a great history; he first reached out seven or eight years ago after reading my blog. We’ve corresponded ever since, and when I told him a few months ago that I was returning to Sweden, we knew we had to meet.
What I thought might be a quick catch-up turned into a wonderful four-hour marathon. Even with his family commitments, we found ourselves lost in conversation about language, travel, and the different trajectories our lives have taken since we last spoke. There is something truly special about meeting someone face-to-face after years of digital friendship and finding the connection is just as strong.
The night ended with a slow walk back to the Metro and a quiet dinner at an Indian restaurant near my hotel. After a day of navigating ice, palaces, and old friendships, it was finally time for bed.
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