Melancholy. That’s the word I prefer to express how I feel about leaving Göteborg. Not just for knowing that it might be a while before I see friends and family again. Equally missed will be the general positive attitude people in Göteborg have.

I’ve interacted with at least a dozen individuals in a wide range of situations and locations and almost been taken aback by how easy it is to strike up a casual conversation with complete strangers. I have no idea why this is, but I miss experiencing the smooth social interactions (in Swedish: goa göteborgare) the city is so famous for.

Captured the above view of Karlatornet on our way to Göteborg’s Central Station a little while ago.

Now, facing backward but with the sun shining – just as it did on our train ride up to Göteborg on the 23rd of December – we’re heading south to Malmötown.

Well, I guess we’ll consider Christmas 2023 closed. It feels like one of the better holiday seasons with my somewhat tired gaze in the rearview mirror. A nice mix of cozy moments with both family and dear friends.

As usual, it was probably a bit too much of the good stuff… but indulging is part of Christmas, I suppose.

Today, I had Chinese food with some of my oldest Swedish friends at classic Lai Wa in central Gothenburg. It’s one of a handful of places that Charlotte and I dined at when we were on our first dates, roughly 27 Christmases ago.

There are probably a few thousand other Gothenburg residents (and ex-Gothenburgers like us) who have a relationship with Lai Wa and other Chinese restaurants in town. Especially during our youth when some restaurant owners turned a blind eye and poured locally brewed Pripps into tall beer glasses, even though we weren’t nearly of legal age yet. Kids, that was back in the day when a big beer de facto equaled half a liter of strong beer, and if we just ordered a minimum of four small dishes, the beer tap was opened for us youngsters. A different era.

The food we ate amid bouts of laughter at Lai Wa was delicious, and even though the lady who served us wasn’t exactly cheerful, she was probably of the same age, so we quickly found a suitable level of banter and jokes. She might have even served us there back in the late 1970s.

Tomorrow, we’re southward bound to Skåneland again. Back to what looks like a delightful New Year’s celebration by the sea with a bunch of fun friends who, like us, don’t hit the brakes too hard or hesitate to end this old year with some more indulgence.

From last night’s wonderful pre-Christmas dinner hosted by our friends Alexandra, Pär and Minona. Great to catch up since we last got together at their summer place for Midsummer.

I find myself sitting in a plush armchair deep within the vast expanse of Suvarnabhumi Airport’s grand lounge, nursing a meticulously crafted Bloody Mary that might be just a tad too potent, even for my taste.

Contemplating whether to replenish my plate with more of the delectable Thai dishes artfully arranged on the extensive buffet or await the arrival of tender Wagyu at 30,000 feet, I decide to settle for a bag of freshly popped buttery popcorn, a treat the bartender has just prepared for a select group of loungers, to which I miraculously belong.

Despite the coziness of this bustling lounge, my thoughts drift to the late afternoons and early evenings spent strolling through the vibrant streets and alleys of the genuinely down-to-earth, working-class neighborhoods along Bangkok’s Chao Phraya River. I reflect on the delightful interactions with locals in restaurants, massage parlors, barbershops, food stalls, and the tiny terminal where we’ve boarded the little white ferry at least twice a day.

Today, my morning was dedicated to a visit to the barber, where I indulged in a head and beard shave executed with such grace and precision that it might have impressed even Herbert von Karajan. Following this, I spent an hour in conversation with an iconic Thai photographer who had worked for fashion magazines in New York during the 1980s and 1990s.

Before returning to our hotel, via the aforementioned ferry, I treated myself to a fantastic massage from a lady who, at some point in her life, might have been a professional wrestler.

Despite numerous visits to this consistently captivating country, my ability to communicate in Thai is embarrassingly limited (and perhaps a bit pathetic). Nevertheless, the roughly hundred words and dozen or so phrases I have mastered consistently elicit surprise and wide smiles from the Thais I converse with.

By making an effort to be exceptionally polite and at least attempting to socialize in their native tongue—with, as I’ve been told decent pronunciation—I feel that I’m reciprocating the same level of humbleness, respectfulness, and politeness that I often experience as a guest here.

In a couple of hours—two and some change—we’ll be boarding our Airbus, embarking on approximately 12 anxious hours high above the clouds before descending to what is arguably one of the world’s finest airports, Kastrup International.

From there, we’ll take the train across the Öresund Bridge, and after reaching Malmö Central Station, we’ll grab a taxi to our apartment. I know that once my house key clicks into the lock and we step inside on what will undoubtedly be some seriously wobbly, jet-lagged legs, this amazing adventure will be over.

Now, I think I need another Bloody Mary. And some more popcorn.

This shot is from a section of Song Wat Road that has dozens of small warehouses filled with spices, herbs and dried foodstuff.

From what I gathered after talking to a kind lady that worked in the wholesale shop with the above raw cinnamon sticks, most of what’s stored and later distributed along Song Wat Road comes from China. Which isn’t strange at all since these mom-and-pop wholesalers are geographically located adjacent to Chinatown proper.

Bangkok. Saturday. Evening. Weary.

While Charlotte worked at a design center on the other side of the Chao Phraya River, I languidly lingered at our Thonburi hotel, casually attending to tasks like handwashing dirty laundry and curating clips for a short film about a bustling Western metropolis.

As the shirts, underwear, and shorts dried on the balcony and my laptop heated up from importing all the clips, I plunged into the pool for a thorough cooldown. With the entire pool at my disposal, I couldn’t help but wonder where all the screaming kids from breakfast had gone to. Checked out?

I ran 5k on the gym’s treadmill and pumped iron for half an hour. Tuned in to a podcast discussing Kiss, the shadowy side of fame, and the challenge both celebrities and ordinary mortals face in eventually feeling irrelevant. Indeed.

Then back to the room, rearranging the laundry, which strangely wasn’t quite dry. Took an excessively long power nap and felt even more fatigued upon awakening. Note to self: truncate those naps.

Charlotte had barely returned home before it was time to hop on the little ferry again to find the place that supposedly serves the city’s crispiest shrimp rolls accompanied by homemade tamarind sauce.

Wandered around Talat Noi, along Song Wat Road, and delved a little into Chinatown. In dim light, everything becomes beautiful. The blue hour.

I’m somewhat ambivalent about tamarind sauce. It demands a generous dose of salt for the sweetness to land just right on my palate. Nonetheless, We found the restaurant, savored four delicious shrimp pancakes with rice but left the sauce untouched. Two delightfully tasty main courses, a bowl of rice, and two large bottled beers (630cl) in chilled mugs filled with ice cubes: SEK 115. Thank you.

We just made it back on the little ferry. Got home, retrieved the laundry from the balcony. A brisk shower and then the hard mattress blues.

Tomorrow morning, off to the classic and perpetually bustling Chatuchak (Weekend Market) to buy Christmas presents.

Bangkok. Friday. Evening. Cheese Doodles. 

Last night marked our farewell feast at the street kitchen beneath the Phrom Phong Skytrain station: wok-fried chili shrimp in coconut milk, small deep-fried fish pancakes in red curry, Pad Thai tofu, a portion of plain boiled white rice, and a couple of ice-filled glasses brimming with cold Chang beer.

Throughout this journey, we’ve indulged in this particular eatery’s culinary pleasures at least eight times. And akin to last night, each dish has been an extraordinary delight.

While we’ve predominantly stuck to our tried-and-true favorites, we’ve also ventured into the more peculiar corners of the restaurant’s immense menu.

Courteous and swift service, impeccably cooked dishes, reasonable prices—all set within a splendidly chaotic ambiance. What’s not to like?

Tomorrow we migrate to the Chao Phraya River.

Beyond Benjasiri Park, where I spent a warm and sweaty hour practicing basketball shots yesterday afternoon, we won’t mourn the ceaseless tumult and overbearing exhaust fumes hovering along Sukhumvit Road and its many side streets (soi).

The air quality in central Bangkok is notoriously dismal—save for the neighborhoods on both banks of the Chao Phraya.

In addition to our imminent relocation to a more recently opened and significantly more inspiring hotel venue along the Royal River, we will also enjoy a considerable upgrade in the form of a modern gym, a more expansive pool, a grander breakfast buffet, and, fingers crossed, an improvement in sleep quality.

The correlation between mattress quality and sleep quality hasn’t occurred to the folks that decorate guest rooms at most Asian hotels. Our bodies have been off and on sore throughout this trip.

I can’t speak for other sexagenarians, but the older I get, the more paramount a restful night’s sleep becomes. That said, having hip pain from an overly firm mattress is a quintessential first-world woe, I know, I know!

Another boon of bidding adieu to the Sukhumvit area is the prospect of exploring Thonburi, the district housing our new hotel, and the section of Bangkok opposite Chinatown on the Chao Phraya River’s west bank. This is where the original capital of Siam was established during the 500-year Ayutthaya kingdom.

Adjacent to our new abode stands the colossal Millennium Hilton and a petite wooden pier, offering a swift ferry ride to Chinatown and a nearby skytrain or subway station.