Stockholm - Damage Limitation

The Sauna has made it to Stockholm. She’s content, we can tell. Coming off the ferry earlier, there was a spring in the old girl’s step: back to her homeland after twenty years banishment to England as a mobile skip. Our bright Turkish towels (thank you Hammamas) TIGHTLY fastened around our waists (following a previous cock-up on the alps) we took the low road (the only road) to the city centre and proceeded to get lost in the unimaginable traffic.

Apparently, provincial Swedes call Stockholm the Ice Queen (we know this only from the guidebook), presumably from the frosty reception they get when arriving (terrible pun not from the guide book). We're staying in the Old Town or "Gamla Stan", an island in itself - Stockholm is made up of a staggering 24,000 islands (direct quote) - and we wandered out earlier in search of food and drink, like the good hunter-gatherers we are. Moose was on the menu, naughty, naughty moose - a delicious treat, if a little heavy. Killing one is an entirely different proposition and requires some thinking about.

Sven is seriously worried that his stomach may have shrunk due to lack of food (he's cut down to three large meals a day) but Lars assures him that having to stop eating after the fourth course is in fact perfectly normal. Stockholm at first glance seemed as icy as we'd been led to believe but like most places, it warmed after a good square meal and seems a wonderful place.

Sadly though we're not on holiday, something that has become quickly apparent during the last few days. From the beginning this has been a challenge, firstly to raise £5000 for a cause we both feel strongly about and secondly to drive a 20 year old pine-clad estate across Europe to Sweden. We've achieved the latter of these objectives and are only 500 quid or so short of the former. I think we can call that a success.

It's been a pretty taxing journey, mentally, physically and financially. The car has seen better days. Both the saunagoers are essentially broke. Lars, quite sensibly, is taking the next flight out of Stockholm tomorrow. He's flying SAS and thinks that this entitles him to a free green beret and a set of throwing knives at duty free.

And Sven...? Well a captain should never desert a sinking ship, and with a pile of clean towels and at least ten hours of Dylan on the i-pod... why not?



With thanks to: the sauna cladding team, our parents and hugely supportive families, Tory, Tom's generous neighbours ( I still have a kilo of Tate and Lyle for the way home), our PR man: Joe, his family and assorted publicity assistants, Mike King (have you got that Sicaflex off yet?), the "Turdo" support crew, the Beemer Boys and Golf Guys (for slowing down for us), the Citroen 1CV man for the delicious beer, our dutch friends in Prague, the enthused Austrian traffic jam victims, Anita and Anders (the only people in Poland to look twice at the car), Dane Valley Volvo, Broadstairs (for the armour piercing headlights), all our media friends and generous sponsors, Adam Oliver (what a long journey it would have been without a radio), Beatrice and Hagen for your offers of a place to stop, Jason for some cracking logos, the long-suffering Ditto (the best print shop in Sevenoaks), all at GHI for their support and enthusiasm, Paul Alexander (who's evidently in the wrong job), the staff at SDBTT who we look forward to meeting when we're both back, and finally anyone who has supported us financially or otherwise along the way.