hong-an tran

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Because of some annoying ticketing quirks, I was unable to fly directly from London back to New York on my wee European holiday a few weeks ago, and had to head back to Sweden for one last night before flying out of Arlanda airport early on a Sunday morning.  Between still being sick and jetlagged, I decided not to head into Stockholm, but instead booked a fancy room at the Radisson wedged right inbetween terminals 4 and 5 at Arlanda, in an area known as SkyCity.  I figured I’d just veg out in my hotel room, maybe wander around the shops in SkyCity, maybe find a place to sit with a book and a glass of wine; all I wanted to do was to decompress from two weeks of illness and farawayness, in the peculiar nonspaceness that is an airport.

I also realized, once I got to the hotel and discovered that it was inside the airport itself, that I’d probably be able to wander around the terminals at night, with no one around.   And indeed, at least in the international / long-distance-flights terminals 4 and 5, it was a ghost town by 8:30 in the evening.   So I took the Leica + wide angle Voigtlander lens and loaded it with a roll of Ilford 3200 speed film that I’d been hoping to use at some point during the trip.  No one stopped me as I explored the place, camera in tow.   SkyCity looks out onto the runways, but with no planes coming in or out, there was hardly anything stirring.   Sans people, the banality of such a large space was striking.

With a couple of shots left on the roll, I decided to treat myself to one last Swedish meal, this one at the hotel bar — the only place in the terminals where there was any sort of stirring.  A plate of assorted pickled herring and cripsbread, alongside one last glass of white wine, in a quiet hotel bar: it was a nice way to end an oftentimes frustrating and frustrated vacation.  I’d probably do it all again in a heartbeat.
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I’ve seen better weeks.  These photos, taken on my final full day in London a few weeks ago, are doing a pretty good job of cheering me up.
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My friend Jonas, at whose work studio I was staying while I was in Stockholm, told me that one of the things I should see and do was to head out to the little island of Riddarholmen, smack dab in the middle of the city, and watch the sun set.  (He’d also told me to bring along something fun to drink, as everyone else does while they’re out there, but I’d failed to remember this important tip.  Ah well!)  So one afternoon during my week in Stockholm, I took my sick, bedraggled self out of the house and into the afternoon sun.   The walk from Norrmalm, the center of town, over the water and into Gamla Stan, the old part of the city, was a lovely affair, with the noisiness of downtown fading away as the cobblestone streets took over.  Then a walk across a small bridge and onto Riddarholmen, full of old buildings and a gigantic church, and then to an outdoor area where others had also come to take in the sunset.  I pulled out a printed-out crossword and fiddled around with it as the sun slowly fell towards the horizon; every so often I’d look up to take a photo or two.  It was a mostly quiet crowd, save for the gaggle of German sightseers on a Segway tour (no really!) and a couple of tour buses that stopped long enough for passengers to come out into the plaza and snap away. 

It was a perfect afternoon, and as the day turned to dusk, folks started to wander away from the water’s edge, and towards the restaurants and bars.  I lingered for a wee bit, to take it all in for just a few more moments. 
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Two words: respiratory infection. 

Yup.  On the second day of my trip to Sweden, what I thought was maybe just a jetlag-prompted cold turned out to be a full-blown respiratory infection, complete with fever, chills, sweats, coughs, more coughs, and general discomfort and fogginess.  Also, between the infection and the jetlag (which never went away), I found myself enjoying the 4am offerings on Swedish television — mostly old American TV shows (Macgyver!) and newer British reality shows with Swedish subtitles.  It was a very, very surreal holiday.

 I’d planned to take the three hour ferry ride to Gotland for the second week of the vacation, but made a last minute decision to fly instead to London, and convalesce at the home of my friends Lupe and Al.   Between a great deal of bedrest and soothing vegan meals at their Clapton flat, and a couple of solo meals at St John Hotel and St John Bread & Wine (places I’ve been wanting to try for some time now), my health and spirits began to improve markedly. 

I did manage to take a dozen or so rolls of photographs on my trip, though as I look at them now, I feel like they were taken in a groggy, half-delirious state, with nothing quite properly in focus or with the correct exposure.  I’d meant to pack my Lomo in addition to the Leica, but in the end, in my packing haste, only the Leica came along for the ride — though the expired Fuji Superia 200 that I used for about half the trip managed to awash everything in that funny Lomo haze.   I’ll post more photos as the week and my health progress. 
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