Weeks Five and Six: This is how I avoid using a ‘Stockholm Syndrome’ pun in a title

As you might recall from my last post, I arrived in Sweden at an airport/seafood joint/comic store. Well, this made plenty of sense in hindsight because it was a miserable two-hour bus ride away from any civilization, including Stockholm. But we eventually arrived in a city that was architecturally newer, brighter and livelier than Budapest, so it was easy not to let that miscalculation of ours bring me down. Plus our hostel had hyper-futuristic décor, as well as (I swear) the internal layout of a submarine, despite the fact that it was a multi-level, above-ground building miles from any bodies of water.

Because we arrived after 5 p.m., we decided the best choice would be to seek out a pub immediately. For some reason, there were no drinking establishments around, and we ended up walking down an exciting stretch of markets that seemed to be tailored directly to tourists (yay us!) in order to find a pint. We soon discovered that Sweden was playing in some big important “football” match. I’m not even going to spend a few seconds googling who they were playing or why the game was significant to provide some context here because, you know … soccer. But this event meant that every single Swedish human was already in one of the three pubs we found, gripping a cheap ale and tensely watching one of several screens. It wasn’t my favorite night out, but it was nice to see this sort of cultural phenomenon outside the context of my own language.

The next day we took a boat tour. My dad (everyone’s dad) would’ve loved this on account of the number of boats we saw while on another boat. Check out these pictures of boats:

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And some other cool things:

We only spent one full day in Stockholm, so I’m afraid the pictures will tell most of the story. But I have done some pretty fun things since returning to London, most notably, the Jack the Ripper Tour.

Another perk provided by the English Lit. Programme, me and a few friends were given a all-expenses-paid tour in which we were shown each of the East London locations Jack The Ripper slew his victims. Our guide was not only passionate about the subject matter and London’s general history, but he was quite knowledgeable when it came to the gruesome, gory details of the murders. One student even fainted when he starting talking about (REDACTED). It was crazy gross! And to top it off, the dude was a total silver fox. No man in his fifties this attractive should be doing anything but acting as a desirable dad in a B-list comedy. He was like a shorter, British-er George Clooney giving tours.

But I digress. About halfway through the tour, we happened upon a bar called The Ten Bells. According to sexy tour-guide man, this is where most of Jack’s ne’er-do-well hooker victims drank their gin each night. It is even speculated that The Ripper himself actually haunted this establishment as well. We spent the rest of our night after the tour re-enacting a scene from these dreadful, horrifying, unsolved crimes — the scene where everyone drinks at the Ten Bells, of course.

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Selfie outside the Ten Bells. Props to the dudes in the back for nailing the photobomb.

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