Thursday: I set off to join her. I get as far as the garage, turn the key in the ignition and... rien. Almost nothing, anyway. The motor makes a valiant attempt to turn over before giving up. Dead battery. Hmm... Two and a half hours before the flight leaves, an hour's journey to Grenoble airport, the bus - if there was one - has already left. In a closed courtyard with no-one around to ask to give me a bump start...
Fortunately, our friendly local garagiste is 20 metres from the apartment, 150 metres from the garage. I trot down and one of the mechanics accompanies me back to the car with portable jump starter. Merci beaucoup monsieur. I make it to the airport an hour before take-off, uttering fervent prayers that the battery has charged sufficiently to start again in 5 days...
Thus commences a long journey. Low cost 'charge-em for everything' airline flight to Stansted, then another one to 'Stockholm' Vasteras, in reality 110km north of the Swedish capital. Find the bus only to realise I've left the printout of online ticket booking at home. Not my finest travelling hour. Purchase another ticket, 80 minute journey, arrive at Stockholm central bus terminal at 1030pm, 2 minute walk to the hotel, collect key-card from desk just as la bienheureuse walks back in from dinner. Perfect timing, easy journey, even allowing for flat car battery, 1 hour drive to airport, 2 flights, 4 hour wait at Stansted, 1 forgotten bus ticket and a 80 minute bus trip.
Friday: Stockholm is cold and grey. Attractive city though, built on an archipelago. Lots of water, lots of ice. We spend the day wandering around sightseeing. The old town (Gamla Stan), parliament, royal palace, break for coffee, across the frozen water to climb the hill for a view back across the city. Stereotypical lunch of herrings and meatballs, couple of hours back in the hotel to warm up, and another wander to gape at the city hall, back along the waterfront to Skeppsholmen, a small island packed with museums, and home again. Dinner in the hotel restaurant, too cold to venture out again.
Saturday: eventually manage to printout bus ticket booking, and then take the metro out east and walk to Djurgården, an island with large park and more museums. We only have till about 2pm so decide to visit Skansen, an open air museum, which includes a zoo and various transplanted buildings and villages from various Swedish areas and eras. Have lunch in a café with a multitude of toddlers before heading back to central Stockholm, where we go our seperate ways. La bienheureuse takes the express train to the main airport, while I catch a bus to Skavsta, another airport, 100km to the southwest this time. Arrive, have a coffee, the flight is called so I go through passport control only to discover I've left my jacket - containing credit cards and camera - the other side. Oops. Fortunately nice Swedish immigration policeman lets me go back and collect it. Another near mishap to add to a lengthening list...
La bienheureuse goes straight back to Lyon, while I break my journey in Blighty. Arrive chez the Margarita man and spend a quiet evening cuddled up with H while the master of the house is out wining and dining.
Sunday: the JeB comes round for a slap up breakfast, then Prof Mag gives me a lift to the station. Enjoy an uplifting experience and 3 great goals at my footballing Mecca before returning to Cambridge. Cycle to the pub for an evening enjoying real ale, liver and bacon with JeB, Marge and a beer brewing flight engineer.
Monday: Prof Mag kindly gives me another lift to the station for an 8am train to Stansted. Journey back to Grenoble goes smoothly, only irritation the triumphant jingle that gets played on landing, announcing 'yet another on-time arrival for Europe's most punctual airline.' Get in the car, cross fingers, turn key...
Motor struggles to turn over but fires! Hallelujah. Drive home through snow, hail, rain and sunshine. Highly enjoyable few days, overall.
