The Champagne Bar

I'm at least 7 floors above Slussen overlooking gay party-boats, edges of Gamla Stan, and the seemingly endless waters of a Swedish coast. Island by island, Södermalm is perhaps the best (or at least a personal favorite). Shortly after the aforementioned catastrophes of connections bouncing from Austin to Oslo to Stockholm, I was here at last . Simon had a special surprise for me, and after breathlessly climbing what seemed to an American as an endless number of stairs, we arrived.

It was white and simple, what little "embellishments" were mere accents to the plain charm of a quaint bar that opened up into what appeared to me as also a plain, simple, and quaint balcony. My first step outside of the door was welcomed by sea breeze, not sweet, not salty, but the inexplicable "langom" I kept hearing of. I wasn't overwhelmed with seagulls and wind, nor beaches, nor any hint at the aroma of fish. Just sweet, clean air gently tousling my travel-weary tresses and gently tugging at our cotton textiles. Simon was no longer at my side but I was too high (both in physical distance from the earth and also from the enjoyment of our view) that I hadn't noticed until he suddenly reappeared with two gently fizzing champagne flutes. Moet & Chandon (the French kind, the real stuff) seemed to dominate both this and, as I would soon discover, other bars all over Sweden. Studies prove that there are upwards of 10 million bubbles in each glass of champagne and each brushed the tip of my nose and soared to my head making me happier to bathe in the sunlight. Everyone around wore sunglasses and sandals, welcoming the brilliant rays (apparently a fleeting experience in Stockholm). I felt home, I felt happy. I hope we go back.