There is a spring!

At the distant end of the Stygian Scandinavian winter, there buds a promise of spring.

No, you're not dreaming. And I swear on my camera: no Photoshop.

We've had five straight days of blue sky, sun, and mild temps. I even saw a few Swedes actually smile at each other for no reason. Spring really is in the air.

Hunker in the bunker

Cultures always vary in surprising ways. That's one of the reasons we started this blog: to track those variances in a way which both entertains and edifies. And so we've looked at transportation, security, boobs--I mean advertising, chairs, dancing meatballs, and Santa Claus. Heck, we've even looked at thermodynamics. But there's one place we haven't taken you yet, and that's to la toilette.

Now, don't worry. I just want to show you the outside of a Swedish public toilette, because it's rather a funny design. In Scandinavia (not just Sweden--we've seen this same design in Estonia, too), you design public toilettes basically by crossing a circa 1950s US-government-recommended backyard fallout shelter...

Um, excuse me. I'm trying to wait out a nuclear attack, here. Sheesh!

...with the Musée D'Orsay.

Because barrel vaults and half-moon windows obviously reflect good taste.

At the business end of our Swedish architectural sausage machine, we get this:

A tasteful place to answer nature's call during a nuclear attack.

But I really shouldn't pick too much on Sweden. After all, it's not like this is the most unusual toilette in the world or anything. (Don't take my word for it--click the link and see for yourself...) And let's face it, toilettes are pretty funny no matter how you design them.

How much would you pay for this... icon?

I'd like to know, in all seriousness, what was going through the decider's mind when the decision was made to endorse this design:

Is that an honest-to-God Greek tholos at the--uh... tip?

I'd also like to know what this BSS cost. What is up with architecture today?

1st class internet travel

And I don't mean booking real travel. I mean surfing the web in style.

Using Google is all well and good when you're searching for something relatively specific. If you're looking for something very specific, you run into problems. (There's a fortune to be made if you can solve them.) And if you're truly interested in browsing the quirkier corners of the web (as opposed to the ad-drenched dreck which frequents Google's top 20 hits in just about every search), you need something different. You need StumbleUpon.

Don't trip me!

I've already plugged this product, but I'm enjoying it so much that I'm plugging it again.

Official description of the product:

What is StumbleUpon?
StumbleUpon helps you discover and share great websites. As you click [the Stumble! icon], we deliver high-quality pages matched to your personal preferences. These pages have been explicitly recommended by your friends or one of 2,061,111 other websurfers with interests similar to you. Rating these sites you like automatically shares them with like-minded people – and helps you discover great sites your friends recommend.

How Does it Work?
StumbleUpon uses [up/down] ratings to form collaborative opinions on website quality. When you stumble, you will only see pages which friends and like-minded stumblers have recommended. This helps you discover great content you probably wouldn't find using a search engine.

You can take a look at my SU profile if you want to get an idea of the kind of stuff you'll stumble upon (get it?). Give it a shot, and let me know what you think in comments. I'd love to build a network of fellow stumblers...

Baltic segue

As previously reported, H managed to score us a pair of free tickets to Tallin, Estonia. Not ones to miss the opportunity for nearly-free travel (one still has to pay for food and incidentals), we made our way to the docks on Saturday afternoon to board the ship. Of course, having had a bit of experience with cruises originating from Sweden, we were mildly apprehensive.

Fewer empty suitcases aimed at the onboard duty free... a good sign.

We shouldn't have worried so much. The M/S Victoria is a much better appointed and maintained vessel than the M/S Cinderella. AND they have free wifi (via satellite) in most of the public spaces--which turned out to be a godsend, since we were hard at work on our submission for the Red Hat Challenge (deadline: 23:59 EST on Sunday). So there we were, writing away, IMing with our third, Montréal-based, team member... via satellite... while afloat on the Baltic Sea. World is a crazy place, n'est-ce pas?

We arrived in Tallinn in the late morning on Sunday, equipped with only our feet, our eyes, a camera, and our debit cards. We withdrew a wee bit of cash and started exploring. Our overwhelming impression was that Tallinn--apparently representative of the Baltics in this regard--teeters a bit precariously between its history and its eagerness to make up for the Soviet years. Despite having become a tourist trap, however, the old city persists in exuding a sturdy charm.

Cobblestoned rambles, cloistered ascents, and onion domes. Hard to get more Baltic--or more charming.

The old city cultivates an enticing variety of street vibes: expansive avenues, quirky corners, daring slopes, stirring vistas, and broad plazas. Tallinn gives the feeling not exactly of hiding something, but of being a bit coy. Whispers Tallinn, "There are many things to discover within me. Things not everyone knows about. Not secrets. Just... small treasures." Unfortunately, that means that most of the big, obvious parts of Tallinn have become calloused, as must happen to all cities which rely on tourism.

Given its complex character, it's little surprise that the old city evinces little fear at having a bit of fun--even at its own expense.

Knock, knock! Who's there? Big stone pigeon. Big stone pigeon who?

Notwithstanding the old city's often delightful urbanity, its relationship with the new city just beyond its gates remains uneasy.

Barricade the gates! Man the walls! The BSSs are attacking!

In general, the aggressive mixing of the old and the new results in some of the most exciting, potentially explosive, and unpredictable cultural alloys. Although Tallinn clearly had energy to spare for growth, to our ears and eyes its enthusiasm rang somehow hollow. The spanking new mall right across the park from the old city's gates (at the foot of the BSS pictured above) adds little to the city's character or quality of life... though I suppose it almost certainly helps the municipality's commercial tax base, a virtue not to be taken lightly. Tallinn seems determined to catch up with the rest of Western Europe as quickly as possible, without really having come to terms with what's happening to their lovely city.

H and I had been thinking quite seriously about a week-long jaunt through the Baltics, but our experience in Tallinn has shaken our determination on that front. While Tallinn's old city possesses a residue of character, its new city--so forceful in both aspect and pathos--has little to speak of. Who wants to see another old city overrun by its zeal for the "future?" I've seen enough of that in North America and in the rest of Europe. I can appreciate the Estonians wanting to put the Soviet experience behind them. It's just that that I believe that there must be better ways than to rush headlong into the soulless monotony of suburbia and an urban core of concrete, glass, and cash.

Gratis tix to Tallinn

As many of our faithful readers know, H is the scion of a family which boasts a long line of Scottish accountants. Which is another way of saying that H is drawn to good deals the way that hungry bunnies are drawn to lettuce. So when she received an email earlier this week, offering a free round trip to Tallinn, Estonia (aboard the Tallink Cruise Line's M/S Victoria, which turned out to be much nicer than Viking Line's M/S Cinderella) if only we would act as ticket couriers for some SSE classmates on a trip to Russia, H hesitated just long enough to ask, "J, would you be satisfied with a single day in Tallinn, so long as the cruise tickets cost us nothing?" To which I gamely replied, "Where's Tallinn?"

Have I mentioned that my mother is an outstanding travel agent?

I wish I could blame my ignorance on someone else, but really, I have no excuse. Until last week I was calling the body of water which separates Sweden and the Baltics, "the North Sea." Which makes sense only if you are either (a) a bit on the slow side when it comes to making the whole Baltic States<->Baltic Sea connection or (b) geographically hopeless. Not that I want to be in either category, but I still choose (a), since I desperately want to believe that I'm not like the schmucks in this clip.

I've watched this clip at least 10 times now, and I am stilled awed by the... Good God! Are these people aware of what they're saying?! (Don't answer that.)

UPDATE (22 March 2007): We're confirmed for our free cruise to Tallinn! Details on our Baltic adventure to follow! Stay tuned!

Another design committee WTF

Maybe it's nothing more nefarious than the pernicious influence of Frank Gehry, Daniel Libeskind, and their ilk, but it sure seems like a lot of iconic architectural projects--or at least, what people clearly intend to be iconic architectural projects--are alike principally in that they share the following three characteristics:

1. Big


2. Shiny


3. Silly

BSS, for short. Perhaps driven to live up to its growing reputation as a global city, Barcelona advances its candidate for biggest, shiniest, silliest building: the Agbar Tower.

Sometimes a big shiny tower is just a big shiny tower.

They aren't sitting on their laurels with Gaudí. I guess you've got to roll B-S-S if you wanna' be like us...

It's St. Patrick's Day every day in Stockholm

Most of us run around with a great deal of incorrect information sloshing around in our memories. That's why it's so wonderful when a private company makes an effort to correct common misconceptions. For example, I'm betting that most our dear readers have heard of the famous explorer, Marco Polo. You probably learned--you may even have read--that Marco Polo grew up in and, in his travels, acted as a representative of, Venezia (Venice). That would mean, obviously, that Mr. Polo was a Venetian. But we've been deceived!

Now, as we all know, everyone is Irish on St. Patrick's Day. Well, Irish enough to drink green beer and dress up as leprechauns. Which is Irish enough for pretty much everyone except the Irish themselves, so it pretty much works out.

In researching this whole Marco-Polo-wasn't-Venetian thesis, I searched the internet for rules regarding the rule about everyone being Irish on St. Patrick's Day, and the most unexpected thing I learned is that

"even leprechauns need colonoscopies."

Good to know. Well, good to know if you're a leprechaun with a family history of colon cancer. Which puts most of us squarely in the didn't-need-to-know-that category.

Since I couldn't find any exceptions, I am forced to conclude that Marco Polo was indeed Irish on at least one day per year. Whether he made mention of it--or indeed, whether he knew it at all--is beside the point. What's not beside the point is that we all know that you can't start a whole line of clothing stores working only one day per year on it. Ergo, Marco Polo was, in fact, Marc O'Polo.

Aye know yer tinkin' dat Aye'm Venetian, but really Aye'm eye-rrish--'n' so arr me clothes.

I've got a big, fat O-apostrophe to give first person who can prove that, in one of those grand, Christopher-Columbus-style miscalculations which seem to turn up in history all too often, Mr. Polo ended up Ireland, but simply reported that he had been to China. Who wants to be the very first O'al-Mubarak or O'Rousseau or O'Goldstein?

Sex in the City: Part Deux

Babies and their strollers abound in Stockholm. At first, I thought I might just be hyper-sensitive to them because J's Law of Swedish Entropy often applies to pedestrians on Swedish sidewalks. Then, I wondered if I might be sensitive because my friends are having adorable children like it's going out of style. But then, my friends started talking about it. Women with strollers, men with strollers, a veritable stroller parking lot just next to one of our favorite cafes... And we're not just talking about any stroller here--most of them are the BMW of strollers.

What gives? The name of a shop in Barcelona seemed to hold the explanation.

No, no, Moms, we don't have any good news for you... I'm just hamming it up for the camera.

Oh, ooookay--SJP and her cronies have moved onto their next phase of life and given into their maternal cravings. Don't you love it when one of life's little mysteries is solved, particularly during an afternoon of retail therapy?

If you like theme parks

You should probably think twice about opening a theme park in Barcelona, no matter how much you like them. The Barcelonans have a message for all would-be theme park entrepreneurs, and the message has been posted.

I know you tink Euro Disney... but really, you're noro Disney.

Fun in the sun

Although I've been to Barcelona before, it was a long time ago--nearly a decade. I had forgotten how sunny it is. And clear-skied. And bright. Especially during the long hours during which the sun is out.

So for our first day, H decided that all she really wanted was to dip her toe in the Mediterranean ocean Sea (Thanks, ML; one of the dangers of posting at 3AM...). Enchanted as we were with the city--and it is positively a city to fall in love with--we simply decided to head toward the water using the biggest and easiest route possible, which of course means Las Ramblas. Now, in addition to being the "heart and soul" of Barcelona, Las Ramblas is one of the pickpocket capitals of the universe. But that didn't deter us. After all, H may well be a kind soul, but she can look pretty darn intimidating when she wants to.

At close to 2m, H almost literally wades through the crowd of sketchy pet vendors, mildly talented buskers, and jittery tourists.

Now, Barcelona has several beaches, but we didn't make it to them. Once we saw the water, set against the liquid Mediterranean sky, we just walked over, sat down, and sighed.

Um, H... you've got something on your face. No, a little more to your left. Oh. It's just sunlight. No wonder I didn't recognize it.

Drunk on vitamin D, we stumbled home and fell into a vaguely euphoric doze, waiting for the legendary Barcelona night to begin.

This building has a nickname

Our apologies for the lack of steady posting recently. H has been finishing up her final papers/ exams, and I've been working on several projects--all of which seem to have had deadlines this week. Not to mention the fact that we leave for Barcelona (yay!) at 3:20 AM this morning (nay...). It's been a rough week.

So anyways, H and I visited Sweden's second largest city, Göteborg (pronounced something like, "Yuh-tuh-borrg"), the first weekend in March. We absolutely loved it, and we'll have more material forthcoming about the trip. Before rushing off to the Mediterranean, though, I wanted to get at least something up about it.

Among all of Göteborg's iconic buildings--and the city boasts quite a number of them--there's one which has one of the best nicknames for any building of which I've heard.

It's the... um... wait a minute. The, uh... "Redroof Dalek" building?

No, dah-link. It's not the "Redroof Dalek" building. Nor is it the "Edna Mode" building. But those are good guesses.

What if H and her rosebud lips help us with a little... context (as it were)?

Yup. It's the "läppstift" building.

Just one question. So at what point, when the design committee was looking at the concept drawings for this project, did someone not say, "I don't care what you say, Jurgen. It still looks lipstick to me?"

UPDATE (2 April 2007): We've pretty much finished our posting about Göteborg. Check in the archives for posts in the 1-7 March 2007 range.

Germans and their sausages

Some of our German-speaking dormmates got together on Sunday and cooked us all a warm, German meal of sausage. With a side of sausage. And a bit of sausage to wash it down.

Hey! Who's the funny guy who put bread on my plate?

OK, OK. We did have beer, too. But who can complain? It was delicious, and there was more than enough to go around. Therefore: a great success!

Why "Truffle Warren?"

Some of our dearest readers have asked us, quite understandably I think, "Of all the possible combinations of words out there, why in particular did you choose to entitle your blog, The Truffle Warren?" An excellent question, to which we have decided to reply by way of a coquettish smirk and the mildly infuriating answer: "Guess!"

Blog authors can't divulge all of their secrets--or at least, not right away...

Fika-ing all over Sweden

Faithful readers will recall that my first-ever blog post was devoted to admiring the Swedish tradition of fika. Since then, J's love of words led him to discover that fika is just the syllables for ca-fé inverted. Ca-fé becomes fi-ka! (Apparently it was fashionable in the 19th century to reverse the order of syllables in to create slang words--contemporary French actually has its own version of this kind of slang, called verlan.)

We've done quite a bit of fika-ing since then, in all parts of Stockholm and even on both coasts of Sweden. If you scroll down to the right, you'll see a little link to our Flikr site--just click on the photo badge to access it--with photos of us fika-ing here, there, and everywhere. Each photo includes a caption noting the location of that particular fika along with a bit of J's pithy prose.

We'll keep updating it, so check back for photos of me, J, and a variety of tasty baked goods. If you want to have some real fun, we've also linked directly to the official H&J fika slideshow.

The hearths of Stockholm

Stockholmians, who are probably representative of the Swedish population in general in this respect, have a special relationship with fire. Urban Swedes (H and I haven't spent much time in the countryside, so we can't really say) use fire to signal welcome to passersby. Sconces for large, outdoor candles appear everywhere in the city.

Doesn't work quite as well as salt for deicing the sidewalk.

One finds such devices everywhere in Stockholm, especially in and right outside of restaurants, cafes, bars, clubs, and other nightlife spots.

Even the quirky cowboy bars use fire to say, "Hej!"

Of course, "nightlife" becomes a rather ironic term in the subarctic heart of a Swedish winter, since December and January witness the transformation of most Stockholmian life into nightlife. After all, during the deep winter, all the day's light becomes concentrated into a mere five hours.

While five hours of sun isn't quite as intense an experience as the true polar night one gets in, say, Kiruna, it still manages to mess with your circadian rhythms. And in Kiruna, naturally, one finds that the Swedish fascination with fire intensifies. Of course, in a city as large as Stockholm, there's always someone willing to take a charming custom too far (this outdoor structure consists of nothing but heat lamps and canvas).

Ever wonder what fast food feels like while waiting for you to show up?

The outdoor sconces are one of the most visible--because nearly ubiquitous--symptoms of the Swede's pyrophilia, but it also shows up in other ways. You can count on finding candles, for example, on every table of every cafe, bar, restaurant, nightclub, etc. in which you find yourself.

It can be a bit like having a sappy-song-rock-concert moment at every café.

Most home furnishing stores in Stockholm sell a surprisingly wide variety of tea-light sconces, ranging in style from classic to hip to... miscellaneous.

Flat-headed maidens, pinup girls, and Sikhs--there are evidently few limits when it comes to stylin' candle holders.

Additionally, I never really noticed it before, but I now agree with H that one way that mega-retailer Ikea stays in touch with its roots is to keep a special place in its heart for candles and candle-related gewgaws.

Students of architectural theory will recognize in Swedes' conflation of fire and welcome an oblique link to the history of architecture. Marcus Vitruvius Pollio (ca. 80/70 BC - ca. 25 BC), known colloquially as Vitruvius, wrote what scholars believe to be the first earliest extant (thanks to AM for correcting me) treatise specifically treating of architecture--his so-called Ten Books on Architecture. In the first two paragraphs of Book II, Chapter 1 of his Ten Books, Vitruvius offers a mythological account of the origin of architecture (thanks to LC for the reference). I've added some emphasis to draw attention to the salient points:

THE men of old were born like the wild beasts, in woods, caves, and groves, and lived on savage fare. As time went on, the thickly crowded trees in a certain place, tossed by storms and winds, and rubbing their branches against one another, caught fire, and so the inhabitants of the place were put to flight, being terrified by the furious flame. After it subsided, they drew near, and observing that they were very comfortable standing before the warm fire, they put on logs and, while thus keeping it alive, brought up other people to it, showing them by signs how much comfort they got from it. In that gathering of men, at a time when utterance of sound was purely individual, from daily habits they fixed upon articulate words just as these had happened to come; then, from indicating by name things in common use, the result was that in this chance way they began to talk, and thus originated conversation with one another.

Therefore it was the discovery of fire that originally gave rise to the coming together of men, to the deliberative assembly, and to social intercourse. And so, as they kept coming together in greater numbers into one place, finding themselves naturally gifted beyond the other animals in not being obliged to walk with faces to the ground, but upright and gazing upon the splendour of the starry firmament, and also in being able to do with ease whatever they chose with their hands and fingers, they began in that first assembly to construct shelters. Some made them of green boughs, others dug caves on mountain sides, and some, in imitation of the nests of swallows and the way they built, made places of refuge out of mud and twigs. Next, by observing the shelters of others and adding new details to their own inceptions, they constructed better and better kinds of huts as time went on.

According to Vitruvius, fire--and more specifically, the hearth--lies at the origin not only of language and political discourse, but also architecture. Humans do not build, on this account, by themselves, but as groups, as communities. Architecture is not an art in the sense that painting or music are, but is rather the original complement of conversation. Humans converse and they build--and this is what defines them as human. And at the heart of the original human community is... fire.

While the Stockholmian sconces are certainly fun, there's also something profound about them. Virtuvius's myth suggests that the human fascination with fire derives not from our animal nature, but rather from that part of our nature related to our political (in the sense of social) and linguistic capacities.

If I don't move, no one will notice me among these lion sconces.

Persevering through the long nights of the Swedish winter requires of people that they exert themselves in being sociable. The entire city relies upon its warmth of heart, as well as its central heating, to survive the winter. The outdoor sconces promise hearths--which is to say, friends and conversation--within, and the table candles are little hearths, around which friends gather and conversation happens. While all cities are in some sense nothing more than oversized hearths, Stockholm celebrates this derivation brightly and openly. It's one of those revealing instances where a seemingly local custom reveals a universal human condition.

Waiter, bring me your finest herring!

While J does a wonderful job of praising my travel planning, I also think he does a great job of humoring my sometimes overly-effervescent enthusiasm. While planning our trip to Gothenburg, I focussed J's attention on the culinary delights to be found in this fine city. He looked at the link and said "looks good," so I further focussed our attention on Fiskekrogen for their generous lunch buffet.

Paying homage to their sea-faring roots, Fiskekrogen does herring 6 ways, many salmons, and all things tasty.

We serendipitously arrived there (I thought I was leading us toward another recommended resto), fresh from the train station and backpack in tow, to enjoy a late lunch. Thank goodness for coat check, which allowed us to toss off our travel packs and step into the dining room unencumbered.

Schnazzy place... too bad they have a thing for chandelier asphyxiation.

Always looking for a bargain, the lunch special with a main dish was only a few crowns more than the buffet alone, so we both opted to enjoy the chef's suggested main course.

This is tasty, but I'd rather be eating the cod balls from the buffet!

We both discovered that we quite like herring in its many forms - my favorite is herring in a creamy garlic sauce, while J's favorite is flavored with a sweet vinegar dressing. In order to ensure that our love extended to all of these tasty little fish, and not just those prepared in fancy restaurants, we ventured a couple of days later to the legendary Feskekörke (translation: the fish church).

I hope these photos have pre-empted your question, "Why is it called the Fish Church?"


Several tasty morsels called out to us--especially the one on the right, which said, "Come to Pappa..."

After roaming up and down past the vendors, we chose one and purchased all sorts of herring and crayfish (oh, don't forget those succulent little crustaceans which were shelled and soaked in a delicious flavored oil). The sun was shining on us that day (literally), so we proceeded immediately to the park bench outdoors to soak in some Vitamin D. J thought things might get messy when I tussled with the herring containers for a bit...

Little herring, little herring, let me IN!

... but we eventually found our way in and enjoyed a delightful lunch along Göteborg's canal. I know that the French are famous for their sauces, but let me tell you, these Swedes certainly know how to dress their herring.

Hilltops and water routes

H and I don't travel the way most of our peers do. Because H boasts mad skillz as an amateur travel planner, we only occasionly end up going where the guides (be they paper or virtual) recommend. Usually, H finds one or two things for us to see or do, often based on advice from friends and/or family, and we then leave ourselves the rest of our time to roam the streets, poke around in shops and cafés, and in general grok the vibe of the city.

Göteborg has much to grok. It was founded in 1621 by King Gustavus Adolphus (Gustaf II Adolf), who hired a bunch of Dutch engineers and builders to come to Sweden, drain some marshlands, dig some canals, and construct fortifications. The city... but why am I telling you this here? This is the internet; you can go and read the Wikipedia article if you want more info.

Where I was going with my little historical rundown was to note that Göteborg has some intriguing buildings and a very particular urban shape, texture, and structure. One of the most peculiar buildings is the Skansen Kronan, an octagonal fort overlooking the entire city. We discovered to our astonishment you can host your wedding reception at the SK, but only if you enjoy hanging out with canons while you nosh on cocktail wieners.

Enjoy our reception! Enjoy the view! Enjoy our celebratory bombardment of the harbor!

But the view is extraordinary--even given the furtive clouds which dogged our visit.

H demonstrates the ancient Scandinavian ritual of "pumping it up"; while J drinks in the prospect of west coast fika.

In addition to its fortifications, Göteborg also enjoys the blessings of Dutch engineering for its wonderful canals. I've heard Stockholm referred to as the "Venice of the north," a cognomen which is apparently a point of some international controversy, since Amsterdam and St. Petersburg also lay claim to the moniker. For Stockholm, the Venice comparison derives not from its canals, of which it has comparatively few, but from its archipelago geography. Göteborg, in addition to being quite a smaller city, showcases the canals it does have (and it has kilometers of them) quite prominently. (An interesting footnote: Sweden has a larger canal--the Göta Canal--which connects the east and west coasts. Not quite Stockholm to Göteborg, but close. These days you can cruise the Göta, if you so desire.)

There is no magic like water magic when it comes to creating wonder in cities.

H and I found Göteborg big enough to be quirky, small enough to be friendly, and delightfully open. While we're lucky enough not to have to make a choice, all other things being equal, I think we'd chose Göteborg over Stockholm for either visiting or living. Can't recommend it highly enough.

Can I get off now?

I don't know about you, but if this train pulled up at my stop, I'd think twice about getting on.

I think you have to ask yourself, "Do I really want to go there?"

Must be difficult on uninitiated visitors:

"So, where you headed?"

"Angered."

"Whoa! Slow down there! I'm just tryin' to help!"

Also, it's probably a moot question, since the train has already stopped at Irked and Upset, but I'd still like to know where this line originates. Irritable? Dyspeptic?

Niche market

A segment of the Göteborg market has been completely captured by one cake designer. Clearly, everyone living on planet Earth, even aliens (they live among us?) want wedding cakes. And following that, sometimes, you have a perfect occasion for a cake to show you and your family riding in your very own spacemobile. And J and I now know just the place to go to get the alien cake of your dreams. It's just down the street from the Trailer Trash store...


Yes, those are pointy ears, slanted eyes, and little naked alien bodies that you see. If they do live among us, they should at least put some clothes on!

Walkup or workout?

It surprises many to hear it, but Paris is more than 5 times as dense as Boston. This has mostly to do with the fact that Paris is almost uniformly 3-5 stories high over its entire area, while Boston, by contrast, has some pretty amazing skyscrapers, but plenty of low-density residential areas as well. Why only 3-5 stories in Paris, you ask? Because most of contemporary Paris was built before the elevator, and 4 flights of stairs is pretty much the upper limit for a walkup. (The world's first real skyscraper, designed by Louis Sullivan and built in 1891, still stands in St. Louis, MO, USA.) Housing in high-density urban areas--in the 20th century at least--has therefore tended toward either 3-5 stories walkups (upper limit for trudging up flights of stairs) or Corbusian towers (equipped with elevators).

Interestingly Göteborg's housing comprises buildings which, though built around the turn of the 19th century, are neither towers nor 3-5 stories tall. Instead, they're 5-7 stories.

I'd hate to have a stairmaster competition with someone who lives in the penthouse in one of those buildings.

The housing is beautiful, and it's given Göteborg the opportunity to have much wider avenues than I would have expected from a city its age. Despite the wide avenues, which are wonderfully roomy, the city isn't terribly car friendly. Take, for example, the Kungsportsavenyn (the most famous street in Sweden, generally shorted to just Avenyn--the Avenue):

Eat your heart out, Champs d'Elysées.

In the US, this street would be 8 lanes of traffic with 3-foot sidewalks on either side. Just past the first turn here, the Avenyn, though it remains just as broad, has just 2 lanes of car traffic. The whole mood and texture of the city is like that: fine-grained old world charm and roomy, new world. Of all the cities I've visited, Montréal probably comes closest, but even it falls short of Göteborg's magic new-old balance. Definitely a winner.