By Yuri Andrukhovych, The Day
Stockholm was not uppermost in my mind as a tourist attraction. In fact, I knew very little about the city and what I saw took me completely by surprise. A pleasant one.
It happened on a late Saturday evening, taking a leisurely stroll from the Moderna Museet where, in addition to a hearty dinner shared by the Swedish Foreign Minister, we were treated to the Romeo and Juliet Choir, a dozen extremely temperamental young men and women dressed in Renaissance costumes (from the Royal Drama Company, we were told).
We had to return to the hotel by bus and I joined a group of compatriots resolved to walk all the way to have a real first hand impression of the city.
It turned out a long walk and most of the way was by water. We had to cross countless bridges (Stockholm is an archipelago composed of 14 islands). “There is water everywhere, nothing but water,” Yaroslav Stupak, a Ukrainian writer and resident of Stockholm for the past ten years, would tell us the following day.
Across the water we could see bright spots of light. Other islands that seemed to accompany us. To the right was the Djurgarden shaped as a giant amusement park with a Ferris wheel and other Babylonian attractions. On our right was the Gamla Stan, the oldest part of the city with lit facades, roofs, churches, towers, the royal palace (the king no longer lives there but keeps the place functional for receptions and as his working quarters).
We talked, of course. What about? Ukrainians abroad have a lot to discuss, mostly comparing the way things are back home to what they see elsewhere. We were invited to a symposium which was actually meant for such comparisons, even a degree of confrontation. Much of the latter had to attributed to a certain Mr. Kulyk, a “Moscow artist” from Kyiv who, once in a Western European city, considered it his duty to get into tousle about this and that, so more often than not there is little love lost in parting. “I love Europe, but Europe doesn’t love me,” he explains this nonstandard creative trend. “When I lived under the Soviets I hated the system, but I placed so much hope and trust in the West and its people. Later, I found out that people in the West are quite different. They will never understand me.” Actually, this was the gist of his statement addressed to the symposium.
People in the West, in keeping with their Western ways, listened to him with a remarkable degree of tolerance. So on our way to the hotel we discussed this tolerance, water, lights on it and across on the other side, urban development culture, Swedish literature (of which we knew nothing), also about how I was robbed at the hotel last night. Like I said, we had a lot to discuss and the walk turned out long. We even decided to make it a little longer to take a closer look at the Stadshuset, the City Hall. A streamline structure somewhat resembling a ship, known as the place of Nobel winners’ banquets.
The gate was open and we stepped into the courtyard (which was not strictly legal). Ahead behind the columns we could sense rather than see water. A naval officer wearing a richly embroidered cape and a sword was pacing ahead arm in arm with an extremely beautiful lady. Other, just as exquisitely dressed people were walking out, we saw low necklines, tails, opera hats, and veils. They passed us, some glancing briefly at a group of gaping dullards who must have looked to them like kitchen help bursting into a high society sitting room in a Fellini movie.
They were on their way from a customary evening party, walking in decorous pairs, observing strict protocol, elder pairs ahead of younger ones. They passed by us pretending not to notice us, and I thought the only way to attract their attention would be by dropping on all fours, snarling and lashing out with bare teeth at someone’s calf.






