Ah Saturday in Stockholm. Time for a little r n’ r. Which in my case means babysitting drives as I import all the week’s footage into AVID under the optimistic dellusion that I’ll actually have time to start working with the material before I get back to Montreal. The good news is I can’t waiit to start cuttng it up. Like I said to Annika yesterday: it’s trippy, we’re GETTING IT. Everything we’ve been writing and planning and hoping for, all the story we wanted to tell and the way we wanted to tell it. We’re getting it.
Way to jinx a good groove Phlip. Nice.
Anyway, back to Sunday. It’s decided that I’ll join Annika to visit our friend Pernilla, recently moved back and re-Swedified after a 3 year stint in Montreal. Crazilly, she looks even more Swedish in Sweden…
Twas a beautiful afternoon spent on what I’ve dubbed “big-ass park island,” since that’s exactly what it is. Felt like we were walking for a long time before we reached the cafe (don’t get me wrong: lovely walk), then I looked at the map and discovered we’d only covered about one 10,000 of the goddamn island. It’s easy to see why Annika pines after the nature this country has to offer.
Getting back was a trip of its own (no pun intended). You have to head to the edge of the island to grab a ferry, that saves you at least an hour of curving around the endless island coast to make it accross the series’ of bridges that’d bring you back. Pretty wicked: boat taxi. And you board next to an amusement park, to the soothing sounds of blood curdling screams from the torture victims on the craziest rides I’ve ever seen. Made me wonder how the hell I ever rode the things.
We ended up heading out to Pernilla’s pad, actually her parents, for a lovely meal, and a desperate laundry load (there are no bloody laundromats in this backwards country!). When her folks got home from an evening out we were treated to a sampling of rare Swedish single malt, good enough to get this Scotsman’s approval. All in all a lovely and well deserved chunk of downtime.