Well, I’m on the last leg of my Stockholm trip, a six-hour flight on Icelandair. Followers of the Migrant Blogger know that Icelandair is not among my favorites, typically failing to get even the basics right. The trip home from Sweden has put everything in the airline’s favor. From Stockholm to Keflavik, I had an entire row to myself. From Keflavik to JFK, I have an empty seat next to me-not as good, but still plenty of room.So, how did Icelandair screw it up?
I will never understand why some countries insist on having their own currency. No, I’m not going to beat up on Canada right now. Even if it is small and only borders us, their economy is clearly developed, and the country does just fine with its crazy pictures of the queen. But, I am confused about Iceland and Sweden. Both make their own cash, as if the fucking Euro isn’t good enough. Even with its recent slide, the Euro has still pounded the shit out of the dollar, especially when you consider that €1 was worth only 50 cents when the currency was first introduce. Now, it’s well over a dollar and has been for several years.Lesson: Bet on Europe, even if they don’t have real work weeks.
Above ground, Stockholm reminds me of Boston, but beneath the surface, it is strictly New York. Now, you know I have a subway fetish, and Stockholm satisfied it. I took a ride on the public transportation today, and I was pretty impressed. There’s a nice mix of efficiency and design. This is probaby the most interesting subway system I’ve encountered.
I haven’t spent a whole lot of time in my hotel room yet (scary, since it’s already 11:30pm here), but the hotel does seem to be a great spot. The room is quite comfortable, though the bed may be a little soft. The large windows would let in plenty of sunlight, if there were any this time of year. The staff is fantastic. I particularly like the bartender, who is quite helpful. He found a local cigar joint for me to check out tomorrow. Pictures of my digs are after the jump.
You may remember my thoughts on the mustard when I got a hot dog (well, several) in Reykjavik over the summer. I got my first hot dog in Stockholm today, and I recognized the same cheese-like taste in the mustard. It must be a Scandinavian thing. However you measure it, my first hot dog in Sweden was an interesting experience.