Becoming a flâneuse

Flâneurie is a luxury that in olden days only rich urban men in good health could allow themselves, and few people today would probably even consider. Life in big cities is busy and quick-paced, and even if you are on holiday you are in a hurry to see all those places your guidebook tells you is a must. I have occasionally walked purposelessly in London or Paris, but even then you know that there is something waiting for you when you come back. 

But now I have all the time in the world, and I have a wonderful city to explore without any obligations imposed, or self-imposed, on visitors. Here is a story, in words and pictures, of my Saturday flâneurie. 

To be honest, I only recognised this activity as flâneurie two blocks from home. Initially, I had a destination. If you have a destination, it's not flâneurie, but I decided that if I take a long detour and stop often enough for contemplation, it would count.

(If you are curious about my destination, it was Birkenstock shop in central Stockholm, because I needed a pair of new sandals. They are incredibly expensive, but this will probably be the last pair I ever need). 

My first contemplation stop was, as I mentioned, two blocks from where I live, and I don't think I had ever seen this place in real life, but it rang a bell. This is the setting of a key episode in one of the best Swedish young adult novels, Janne min vän (Johnny My Friend in English), by Peter Pohl. I have written extensively about this novel, and I have taught it numerous times. In this scene, the enigmatic androgynous Janne bikes down the steps for a bet. And see, this fact has not escaped the city council.   

 

During today's flâneurie, I noticed several of these plaques, and I couldn't help thinking that I am so ancient that I actually met several of the authors immortalised in these inconspicuous boards. One day, I will try to find them all, or at least as many as I can. 


I don't know this area very well, and it is a bit off the main streets, but it is a charming part of the city. See for yourself:

 

Not places you discover as a visitor, and maybe not even as a resident if you are rushing to the underground station, looking at your screen. This is where I acknowledged my flâneur status.

I cannot avoid walking through the Old Town, since it lies between Södermalm, where I live, and the city centre. I avoid the most touristy street and then deviate from the most obvious route I have been taking so far, walking instead over the bridge to Riddarholmen. When did I last go to Riddarholmen? Why would I ever go to Riddarholmen, other than for annual receptions at Norstedts publishing house? In all those years I missed this magnificent view: 

  
This sculpture is called "Sun Boat", and I now know all about it. And next to it is of course the great troubadour Evert Taube, and I start singing one of his famous songs to myself. 

This Saturday morning, Evert Taube Terrace is almost empty. Not a tourist spot, a flâneur spot. I love it. 

Two more pictures from Riddarholmen:

It seems that steps are prominent on my flâneurie, and this is of course what Stockholm is like. 


I cross another body of water, buy my Birkenstocks - I am the only customer; tourists don't buy expensive indoor sandals, and locals are probably still asleep. Then I turn to go back and see Riddarhuset, the House of Nobility, where I once attended a birthday party. 

 

So many memories evoked by places. I wonder what our nobleman friend is doing now.

Suddenly I realise it is Saturday which means that my favourite and very dangerous shop in Old Town is open, the toy and miniature shop where I used to spend a fortune on my visits to Stockholm. This implies taking a more crowded street, but it gives me a chance for another reminiscence: 

Stampen, literally Pawnshop, a famous jazz club where we used to go, sometimes even dance, a long time ago in a pre-previous life. 

Some more random pictures from Old Town: 

 

No, this last one is not random at all; it is Tyska Brinken, German Brink, leading to German Church, where I took my Granny to the first ever Lutheran service since she was a child. 

My favourite shop is closed. 

 

I wait the promised 15 minutes, then realise that I am not in Stockholm for a brief visit, I can come back next Saturday, and it's probably just as well it is closed or I would as usual spend far too much. 

Once over the bridge, I take a slightly different route and see more steps and some weird sculptures. 

And discover a museum I definitely must visit. It is not mentioned in the city guide.

More steps, leading from my street to Medborgarplatsen, a busier part of Södermalm. 

And small parks everywhere.

This is not a movie backdrop: 

 

I am rewarded by an old-fashioned yard sale, where I buy a dollhouse kitchen, not because I need it, but just because, and the nice lady asks the equivalent of £1, obviously thinking she has made a great deal.

Then I am finally back home, having cleverly resisted the temptation of having coffee in town for a price that in Cambridge would buy a two-course meal. I put on my new super-comfortable Birkenstocks, make myself a cup of coffee and a light lunch and sit on the balcony admiring my lush vertical garden.

I think this is the way I want to spend the rest of my life.