Sverige
Sweden already seems like a dream that happened a long time ago, its edges soft and blurred with only a peculiar taste lingering afterwards. I'm not even sure now what I have taken away from it, though I'm sure Mel is tired of the moment near the end when the dread of returning to London sours the tone of my voice.
Was the time at Yasuragi real? Moving from drinks at Ice Bar to Japanese robes overlooking the archipelago in less than 2 hours never seemed smoother. The rhythmic shuffle of slippers echoes behind the image of strangers clothed in the same blue and white kimono robes eating fruit, drinking tea, lounging in the sun, a bare shoulder here, a glimmer of the skin behind the knees there. Langueur comes to mind. But oddities follow us, always. The American Chinese living in Austria and the American Indian living in England discuss life in Sweden and the subtleties of sake with the divorced Algerian bartender who stayed in Sweden for a woman to never return home. The odd heaviness of the corners in our room. Melanie standing in front of a tree making strange noises as I slowly back away, in flight-mode. Isn't this how horror films start?
And then Stockholm. Stockholm. Where nothing and everything felt familiar. Unsettling. Frankly, I did not like the place. There was something peculiar in the air and I have yet to put my finger on it - we conjectured that maybe it was the melange of architectural styles and peoples. But not quite. And it was only when the sun had gone down and we found ourselves looking across the watery reflection of the city at the light behind the horizon did I feel at ease.
Definitely something in the air. Either it followed us there or it was there already. The place is heavy. Reminds me of those long stretches of rural India at night, when you look out the train window, and though nothing is in sight, you know something is out there.