Just some oak and some pine and a handful of Norse men

Greetings from Sweden: where the furniture folds to a much smaller size.
I landed at the airport at nearly 11 pm after another truly bizarre flight.
It was the night Italy took on Germany in the Eurocup and my plane was full of Italians anxious to land so they could find out the score. About halfway through the flight, the intercom came on, "good evening, this is your captain speaking" never a good sign on a ryanair flight, especially not a night flight where everyone is asleep and the captain is waking you up for announcements "we are now flying over Germany. Speaking of Germany, the score of the match is currently 2-0, have a pleasant rest of your flight."
At that moment, a near riot broke out. I've never heard more che cazzo-ing in all my time in Switaly.
The intercom comes back: "this is your captain again...ITALY, it's 2-0 ITALY, ITALIA is winning 2 goals to nil." the cussing turns to raucous cheering, "who wants a drink? Beer and wine, half price. If you don't drink, Germany wins."
Needless to say, the cabin crew ran out of beer and wine and the rest of the flight consisted of a lot of cheering and singing and general merriment.
Sports make people do silly things.
Anyway, flight landed, bought my ticket to central terminal, and spent the next hour and a half on a bus reveling in the seemingly eternal sunset/dusk/dawn looming on the horizon well into the wee hours. This northern summer light all day thing is really mind blowing.
I walked to hostel number 1, used the super secret pin code to open the door (seriously, it seems like Stockholm residents don't use keys, they all just have keypad code locks and memorize a lot of numbers) grabbed my envelope off the reception desk, got the code to my room (always a friggin code) got hit on by the drunk man sitting in the lounge, pretended not to speak English, found my room, crawled into bed, and passed out.
The next morning I checked out and walked the 4 blocks to hostel number 2. (why 2 hostels? Well number 2 looked cooler--practically the only cool looking hostel in Stockholm...at least at a reasonable price--but had limited availability...do what you gotta do...oh! And hostel 2 has a no shoes rule...which is perfect for my life, who needs shoes?)
I checked in, dropped my backpack in the luggage room, and set out in hopes of adventure...and food.
I wandered for a good long while, got more than my fair share of lost, saw a bunch of cool buildings that I later found out were old town/historical in some way, kicked a few pigeons, and still was incapable of finding affordable food. Note to self: when everyone everywhere warns you about how expensive Stockholm is, don't scoff and say "something something expensive? Something something 4 years in Switzerland something something" because they are right, Stockholm will actually eat your wallet AND find some way to tax you on it for services rendered.
I gave up and went to the grocery store, bought rice, a can of beans, and an onion, and made pauper beans and rice...and even that set me back nearly $15
Over the course of dinner I met 2 Arizonian (is that the right word for that? Autocorrect doesn't seem to hate it...but it also keeps trying to make "Scandinavian" into "scandalnavia"... Which isn't even a word...or an accurate descriptor of my time in the region...but it would be a good name for a bad preteen romance novel or something) brothers, a Finnophile Aussie metalhead, and their Californian hostel-roommate and we decided to hit the town, it was Friday after all. We were joined by an Aussie girl and made our way to a place called lion bar that was promised to have comparatively affordable drinks, unfortunately, they were "full" which is bouncer code for "we don't want you idiot tourists in our bar, go away"
Jerks.
We made our way up the street and into a dive-y place called Anchor...it was a little loud/angry/dark for my liking, but they let us in...so that was something.
We stayed for a drink or two and then called it quits...a biker bar was not really the way I wanted to go broke anyway...
We walked outside and it became abundantly clear how Swedes spent a night out without going broke buying 60 kronor beers in bars...they have a serious cruising culture. They pile into these epic old cars (or in one case, a monster truck with couches in the back) and drive up and down the street, harassing pedestrians and blasting music (and in one case, running bare-assed out onto the sidewalk and kissing a beggar woman...yeah...that happened)
We returned to the hostel and called for a mulligan the next day...starting with a pilgrimage to the world's largest Ikea. Best idea. Especially since we had in our midst an Ikea virgin! What better place to remedy this than Sweden?
We left at noon and train/bus/walked our way to Ikea. We headed straight for the restaurant and gorged ourselves on meatballs and potatoes and lingonberry everything (the most affordable meal of this leg of the trip, and delicious to boot!)
We spent three hours sprawling on couches, hopping on beds, playing with plush rats, and spinning in desk chairs...and I got stuck on a children's slide...
Pictures were taken, fun was had, and plushie rats were purchased...Ikea success.
We got back to the hostel and napped. Ikea can be exhausting.
In the evening, we set out to wander old town and explore the more eclectic southern part of Stockholm (recommended as a hip cool party place)
After deciding the bars recommended to us were not our scene, we found a place with nifty decor, strange music, and 35 kronor pints...we settled in for a few drinks, a chat about healthcare/music/food, and watched it pour rain outside for a solid 30 minutes. When it stopped, we tried to go to this funky club under a bridge that has too many accents in it for me to type it on my wifi enabled device, but there was an hour wait (at least), a 120 kronor cover charge, and according to the Swedes in front of us, drinks inside were club-prices (meaning all the money)
Going with the "well, we tried" theory, we had another beer elsewhere, got gyros (that were GIANT and magical and full of meaty french fry-y goodness) and walked home into the sunrise/set...yeah, I still don't know where one stops and the other begins...but the nonstop orange/blue glow is pretty amazing.
Real morning came and brought July with it, and with July comes my departure from Sweden and Europe and the beginning of my trip home...this was getting me down...until schadenfreude stepped in and I met Lee, a SoCal kid who likes Russian literature and dislikes the sun (and resents that the english language calls warmth and blue skies "nice weather")
He is stuck indefinitely in Sweden without luggage or a working credit card but fortunately, WITH a good sense of humor about it all...at least my future includes bagels...
Anyway, he and I chatted about the soviet union, eurocup, the word "quaint" among others, beautiful people, bad canadian pop music, and we sang Whitney Houston loudly in the common room with a Swiss/Frenchman. It was a good end to this leg of the journey.
Now it's off to a long layover in Reykjavik and then...JFK :-/
I'm thrilled, really.