My day of rest

Monday was a quiet day for me, and frankly, my body needed it. After the pace of the last week, it was time to just rest up and recalibrate. I actually got a bit of help in that department from the Arctic night train; we were running four hours late due to some technical problems in the middle of the night, but I didn’t mind one bit. It was a relief to stay tucked in the comfort of my sleeper, watching the snow-covered world roll past the window while I enjoyed breakfast.

The delay was also a stroke of luck for my logistics. It meant I didn’t have to kill three hours in the city waiting for my room to be ready. I was able to go straight from the station to check in at my accommodation in Skanstull. I’ve stayed here before—and I chose it again because it’s a budget-friendly way to balance out the trip without sacrificing comfort. I have a small, windowless single room, which doesn’t bother me given how dark Stockholm is anyway this time of year. It’s warm, cosy, and just a short hop to the bathroom.

Most importantly, this is the first place I’ve stayed on this trip that had exactly what an amputee needs: a plastic stool in the shower. I usually take my prosthetic off to wash, and while I can stand at a pinch, having a seat to wash my stump safely is a game-changer. The woman at the desk was incredibly attentive; she remembered our earlier conversation about the chair and made sure it was sorted. It’s those small details that make a place feel like home.

Since the weather in Stockholm has turned quite wet and the footpaths are becoming incredibly slippery with the thawing snow, I made a quick trip to the Apoteket (the chemist) to buy a walking stick. With the prosthetic and my replaced hip, that extra point of contact with the ground gives me the confidence I need to navigate the slush.

Later in the evening, I ventured out for a gentle walk. I stopped by a gay bar called The Secret Garden, but I found the atmosphere a bit melancholy. Like so many bars lately, it was full of people staring at their phones, perhaps scrolling through apps rather than looking at the room around them. There’s something antisocial about it; you look up, smile, and people just dive back into their screens. It felt a bit sad, so I moved on toward Gamla Stan.

On my way to the Metro, I passed another bar, Torget, which holds some very fond memories for me. It was there, years ago, that I met a young guy named Kim. He just started talking to me—first in Swedish, then in English—and we struck up a lovely friendship that lasted across several of my visits to Stockholm. He was the one who introduced me to the world of Schlager and Melodifestivalen bars.

Tragically, I learned through a post from his mother on Facebook that Kim took his own life about six months ago. He would have been in his early 40s. Thinking of him, I decided to go into Torget and have a drink in his honour. The vibe has changed—it’s more of a mixed, pub-style crowd now—but the atmosphere was warm. People were actually talking to each other rather than looking at their phones. It was a beautiful, reflective moment to revisit a place that meant so much to me in the past, both in the golden light of summer and the deep chill of winter.

After a quiet toast to an old friend, it was time to head back to Skanstull for a good night’s sleep.