The next day found us in Stockholm. We cajoled some befuddled American septuagenarians to share a cab with us into town. They were muddled over the new currency while my mother tried her Swedish with the cabbie. Unfortunately, he was from the Middle East and boasted speaking many languages since he’d lived in Sweden 15 years. However, neither his English nor his Swedish were able to bear the burden of actual communication. Maybe he could sing along with songs?
We dropped the befuddled Americans off at the Royal Palace, which my mother disclaims to be the ugliest in Europe before anyone else can criticize its grey blockiness, hulking on a small hill like Lenin designed it. We wandered through Gamla Stan, which Ian pronounced like a Central Asian country. “Let’s see Gamla Stan,” I said, “I hear it’s near Afghanistan. I sure hope the Americans haven’t destroyed it too.” But they hadn’t. The Swedish postcard and t-shirt and Viking hat industry already had.
We stumbled upon the Nobel museum and I was curious to learn more. We later won a trivia game point by knowing that the awards are in six areas: medicine, physics, chemistry, literature, economics and peace. I’d like one in peace or maybe literature. The museum explored the history of the prize to some extent and touched on a few winners briefly. But mostly it was about Alfred Nobel and his life, which was remarkable, but not nearly as interesting to me as the former winners.
To complete our Nobel tour, we also visited the City Hall where the prizes are given. A very chipper Swedish-Chinese young lady guided us around and showed us how to walk down the staircase before accepting our prizes.
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