My First Trip To Sweden.....

Graeme visits Sweden for the first time in 1993

Until a few years ago I had never been that interested in travelling overseas. I didn't really like things that were different - I liked things that were familiar, comfortable and reliable. I can remember a heap of my friends going to London for the premiere of 'Chess' in 1986. Virtually the whole Sydney ABBA Clique left the country! They also went to Sweden, Copenhagen, France and other places. John "Frida" McKechnie even went to Egypt. I couldn't really comprehend this - the thought of travelling overseas seemed a little unreal to me in those days - the various countries were just names on a map to me.

I had only moved up to Sydney from Adelaide a couple of years earlier and was far more interested in exploring what my new city had to offer. I had a new job, new friends and was enjoying a whole new lifestyle. I think I may also have been a little frightened of what I'd find overseas. My father always said "life was cheap" in other countries, particularly America where he said that they'd "gun you down as soon as look at you". Hardly the stuff designed to make me jump on the next plane......

How you can go for 32 years and not want to travel to other countries is beyond me but that's where I found myself back in 1993. And then suddenly it all changed because of a pop music clip on a Saturday morning TV show - 'Video Hits'. My whole world was about to be altered forever.

I'm sure you'll be shocked and disgusted that my first pilgrimage to the spiritual home of all Abba fans was inspired by an English pop group. Well I must confess - it's true. The TV show 'Video Hits' was having a competition inconjunction with the new single release for 'Take That' (Could It Be Magic). The prize was a trip to London and tickets to their concert at Wembley Arena.

I entered the competition, but more importantly, an idea entered my mind. Why couldn't Grant and I go overseas anyway? Organise a trip to London ourselves to see 'Take That' and maybe pop over to Sweden for a couple of days? I never understand how these ideas pop into my head but they do with alarming frequency. Example: January 1997: "Hey, why don't I start my own mailing list for ABBA!". Oh dear.

Most of my contemporaries spend 6 or 12 months planning an overseas jaunt. Grant & I organised it in 6 weeks. Along the way it grew from a quick two-weeks in London to almost six weeks visiting London, Amsterdam, Stockholm, New York, Los Angeles, San Fransisco and Honolulu. I'm not quite sure how that happened. I think I decided that, if I was going to go overseas, it would only ever happen once so I'd better fit as much in as possible.

I flash forward now. Grant and I had spent two weeks in London and popped over to beautiful Amsterdam for 4 days and were now moving on to the next destination - Stockholm, Sweden.

Did you ever dream of what Sweden might be like when you were a young Abba fan? I did. From the little I picked up from 'adults', it was a place of free sex and pornography, dirty postcards etc. - one of those "naughty" countries where they did it like rabbits and had no hang ups about it. Seems so ridiculous now, the world is so much smaller and we know so much about one another today.

As our British Airways 757 hit the coast of Sweden I began to sweat. I started to feel very apprehensive. It was almost like I'd been waiting for this moment for 18 years and yet was scared that is was actually going to happen. That kind of contradiction happened a lot during my time in Sweden.

As the plane got closer and closer I don't think Grant and I even spoke to each other. Grant had been to Sweden in 1986 but it seemed a lifetime away to him. Coming in to land I can remember lots of pine trees, lots of green everywhere. What the hell did I expect - IKEA signs and blue/yellow flags everywhere?

By the time the plane landed I had lost the plot just a bit. I kind of floated out of the plane into the terminal. Inexplicably, as we entered the terminal building, an Abba song was playing over the speakers. It was too much, tears started rolling down my face. As we walked along the terminal in a daze, my eyes were darting everywhere - a Swedish duty free store, a Swedish Donald Duck comic, a Swedish newspaper, a Swedish ice cream, Swedish chocolate bars, Swedish people, Swedish CDs.......information overload...not coping...TILT!

We stopped at the duty free store for a quick look around. Big mistake. They sold CDs. An hour passed. We left the store loaded up with stuff and we hadn't even officially "arrived" yet. I kept thinking if the passport control person doesn't stamp my passport to say I've been here I'm gonna chuck the biggest wobbly. Luckily for him I was stamped with a big "INREST SVERIGE". Next stop baggage reclaim.

British Airways informed us that our baggage had not arrived and would probably arrive the next day. They would deliver it to us. They gave us a small kit with toothbrush, razor, shampoo, cologne and paper underwear. The underwear was made out of some sort of white paper fibre with tiny little ventilation holes. And it stretched to fit. Incredible - as if I'd wear paper undies around Stockholm. What if I got run over by a bus and Görel happened to be walking by????

We went outside to where the airport buses were lined up. I wanted to get down on my hands and knees and kiss the ground. Grant thought we might be arrested so I resisted the urge. The Airport bus was fantastic - only 50 kronor. Arlanda Airport is a long way from the city. The taxis also had a set price - from the airport to anywhere in Stockholm for 250kronor ($50) - how sensible, how Swedish. I loved the bus ride into the city, I looked at everything. The scenery was spectacular. Now and then there were typically Swedish buildings that I just wanted to jump out and hug. We passed a big IKEA sign - proof that we were actually here!

When we hit Stockholm I can remember thinking only one thing "I wonder if Baldersgatan 1 (ABBA headquarters in the 70s) is down that road, I wonder if Baldersgatan 1 is behind that building, I wonder if Baldersgatan 1 is over there".... You get the idea. What do you mean obsessive? Everything was new for me, everything was so exciting. Why had I waited so long? Why did it feel so right to be here? When you can look at a traffic light and get excited, you know you've got it real bad.

Stockholm Central Bus Terminal was very well organised and modern. It was very efficient and functional. We carried our bags up and down corridors and escalators, through doors. I don't think I really cared if we were going in the right direction, anywhere was fine with me. We bought our "Stockholm Card" just like the guide book told us to and then we were on our way to the T-Bana (underground railway). Our destination was Mariatorget. I couldn't get that pronunciation right no matter how hard I tried. On the train we looked at all the posters advertising stores and clothes etc. Completely fascinated. Everything held our interest. Also our first experience of Swedish graffiti - we decided it must be better than regular graffiti because it was in Swedish.

We had a funky little hotel on the island of Sodermalm, not too far away from the old town - Gamla Stan. We were greeted by an Asian front desk receptionist speaking perfect Swedish. For some reason I found this vaguely disconcerting. I had never imagined an Asian-Swede. During my time there I also saw black-Swedes chatting away furiously and this also perplexed me. I couldn't decide whether it was because I was an ignorant little boy from Adelaide, South Australia or whether I truly was xenophobic. In the end I just thought, "oh for god's sake grow up Graeme or you'll be joining the KKK next".

Our hotel room was spartan to say the least. An older style bathroom and poor Grant had to sleep on an uncomfortable couch-thingy where the sheets weren't big enough and kept getting all messed up in the middle of the night. But it was only 510kronor a night ($102), pretty cheap for Stockholm so we weren't bothered. And the location made up for it. Outside our window was a lovely park where Swedes could be seen playing boules (?). Pardon my spelling. Anyway, a game with metal balls rolling along the footpath. It looked so sophisticated. There was even a 7-11 on the corner. A Swedish 7-11 of course, stocking all sorts of untold mysteries. And on the other corner was a shop that had Monopoly - the Swedish version in the window. Oh we would have loved it but it cost 270 kronor I think ($54). The T-Bana station was literally around the corner and there was a Konsum just across the road (a kind of mini-supermarket with fruit & vegetables). This was living! What else could you ask for? (If you ever need lessons in how to look like a total moron in Konsum, just call me).

After we checked in and unpacked there was the briefest of moments when we thought "what the hell do we do now?". We knew we had better DO something now we were actually in Sweden. Even though it was 8.30pm (or 20:30 as they say in Stockholm) it was still light so we walked down towards the old town, Gamla Stan. The sun was on it's way to setting and throwing a brilliant orange glow over Stockholm harbour - it was a breathtaking first-sight that remains with me today. The view of the city hall, the old town and the harbour as we walked down the hill towards the city was spectacular. Goosebumps.

We meandered through the old town drinking in every shop, every old building, every stone in the road, every Swedish flag, every postcard and trinket. It was a fine evening and the temperature was perfect for a stroll. It was like being in the 'Summer Night City' clip. Gamla Stan turned out to be my own little hiding place in Stockholm. I've always loved getting lost in it's tiny lanes and alleys. The handicraft shops, the souvenirs, the streets made of stone, Swedish flags hanging all over the place (just next to the "Tax Free" flags!). The square with the coloured houses made famous in those ABBA photos all those years ago. When you're actually there, sitting in that square, you need to pinch yourself a few times. Otherwise it just doesn't sink in. Benny & Frida had lived in the old town at one time - I wonder where their apartment had been? Never mind, another turn, another alley. Something to see around every corner.

We made our way into the city and then past the Grand Hotel. There it was: "Lite Grand I Orat" in person, right in front of us. Frida had performed here for four nights in 1981 in a variety spectacular that was also shown on television. I could imagine Claes (her co-host) and Frida singing "let's get this show on the road, ain't it long over time......let's all see some action, can't get good reaction all time". I would have loved to have done the big sticky-beak inside the hotel but, then again, spending the night in a Stockholm Polis station didn't do a lot for me.

If you think I sound like I turned into the world's worst tourist, you're right. Something snapped in me. I went from having absolutely no interest in what the world had to offer to being addicted and savouring every possible experience. Bus tours and boat cruises were now the order of the day. When we planned the trip, 5½ days in Stockholm sounded like more than enough time; the reality saw us racing against the clock to fit as much in as we could.

Strange ABBA-related feelings kept popping up without warning during the week in Stockholm. If you are doing touristy things in Stockholm, chances are you'll run into a place intimately associated with an ABBA photo session or film clip. When you do hit those places, especially if it's unexpected, it can be something of a shock to the system. For me it was like an intense swelling of emotion - I either began to cry or felt immobilised.

One of those places is Baldersgatan 1, a lovely old building that was the centre of the ABBA empire for so many years. Do you remember it from the ABBA bubblegum cards or perhaps you've seen Polar's pink letterhead from the 70's with a sketch of the building? It was an icon to many fans - the eye of the hurricane that was ABBA in the 70's. For me, it is THE ABBA icon. The craziness of my years running the Australian ABBA Fan Club is somehow enshrined in that building. That building and its occupants had always had so much power over me during my teenage years that I wasn't sure how I'd react to visiting it as an adult. Certainly Stig had long since sold the building but the power of Baldersgatan 1 was very real for me and also Grant who also "lived" those troubled times with me.

Grant himself had visited Stockholm in 1986 as part of his three month tour of the UK and Europe. One of the clearest things I can remember Grant telling me after that trip was his visit to Baldersgatan 1. He went along there in a touristy/ABBA fan kind of way just to have a look. When he got there the experience was very different. He just lost it. He broke down in front of the building and had to sit on a park bench nearby while the tears flowed and flowed. God knows what people passing by would have thought. I remember him saying that it was just too much to see the building in real life - a building he'd seen on countless letters, press releases, bubble gum cards, photographs. That building was ABBA to Grant. And to me. It had always been such a powerful symbol of ABBA and there it was, just a few feet in front of him. Overload. So much left unresolved. Tilt.

In 1993, on my first trip to Sweden, you can imagine that, after Grant's experience, I was a little worried about visiting Baldersgatan 1. In fact, it wasn't nearly so scary or emotional for me. It turned out to be a dream fulfilled. The building is located in area with a lot of foreign embassies. Armed security guards roamed the streets. One such guard took a particular interest in Grant & me. He was a little concerned that we had taken about 24 photos of this very ordinary building, the street sign etc. He approached us cautiously.

We got straight to the point and told him we were there because of ABBA. He was amused but quite interested and respectful. Here were these two 33 year old men from Australia taking photos of what he considered to be a very plain building. He chatted with us for a while and told us that the building was now owned by the Swedish Police Federation (the Union that represents policemen and women in Sweden). He suggested we knock on the door and ask for a look around. We giggled nervously. He became more emphatic - why not! Go for it! So we did.

We knocked on the door and a lady came out and asked what we wanted. We explained that we were from Australia and that this was once the headquarters of Abba's record company and could we have a look around. She looked kind of strangely at us and asked us to wait. By this stage I was shaking. Shortly afterwards a tall, solid man came to the door and we had to explain our situation again. He said "come on in". He was the head of the Swedish Police Federation. Oops!

Suddenly this serious man with a serious job turned into our Baldersgatan 1 tour guide. He showed us around the building, took us to every floor and explained what it looked like when he bought the building from Stig. He told us some amusing and naughty stories about Stig and took us up to the top floor where Stig had a kind of overnight apartment. He let us look out the window and take photos of the view of Stockholm. He answered our questions. He was brilliant.

We walked down the stairs again, minds spinning. Those goddamn stairs. And there it was, a stained glass window that I had known for 14 years. In 1979 Billboard magazine produced a colour supplement to celebrate ABBA's North American tour and also their five year career. This supplement was called 'ABBA 5 YEARS' and had stories, advertisements and tributes from Abba's licensees around the world. One page has a beautiful colour montage of the gang at Polar. And in that montage there is a small photo of Görel Hanser, Vice President of Polar Music International. She is standing on the staircase at Polar holding some papers, looking absolutely radiant. Görel was my contact for many years when I ran the Australian Fan Club. In this montage there is also a photo of that window. The image had been etched in my mind since the day I first saw it. I had to ask "can I have my photo taken standing on the stairs in front of that window?". Yes I could. And I did. By this stage, the whole thing had taken on a kind of Disney-fantasy like aura. We thanked the head of the Swedish Polish Federation and stumbled on our way. Did that really happen? So many wonderful things happened to us in Stockholm and this was the icing on the cake. We were still yet to meet the so called "coldly perfect" Swedish people - and apart from one person, we only ever met the "incredibly friendly and kind" Swedish people during our trip.

By contrast Hamngatan 11, where ABBA's empire moved to in 1980, left me feeling quite empty. Granted it was in the process of being renovated with British Airways taking over where Polar had left off. I took some photos of it and had my photo taken by "that door" (the entrance where the Polar triangles had once been) but it didn't really do much for me at all. It seemed just like another building on another street. It didn't seem to be capable of holding all that rich ABBA/Polar history the way Baldersgatan 1 had. It seemed cold and functional. Maybe the buildings tell the story of the changes in ABBA themselves over the years.

The third part of the Abba building trilogy is of course, Mono Music HQ on Skeppsholmen, a tiny island that you get to by crossing a wonderful little bridge (where Frida sang "Saltwater"). What a cute little building - it looks like a barn on a farm in the country. The island is so cute. Of course we had one of those annoying Abba flashes as we walked around the island - those bloody painted statue/sculpture/animal things. You can just see it, can't you: "What's that, oh isn't that where.....oh shit it is, it really is! So this is where they took those photos, oh my god". Poor sad deluded ABBA fans.

The doors at Mono were very firmly closed. Not wanting to step over that barrier that separates normal Abba fans from Glenn-Close-in-Fatal-Attraction Abba fans, we didn't knock. We took photos of each other in front of the name plates - "Mono Music AB", "Music & Artister Görel Hanser AB" etc. We couldn't see any cars around the place so we figured B & B were not in attendance. I had 17 years of unresolved business with Görel but that was going to have to wait for another time.

Can I just say that, apart from one rainy day, the weather was sensational during our week in Stockholm - bright sunshine, warm days and cool, still nights. A bus tour took us to the Stockholm Telecom Tower and from that vantage point we were able to see right across the city on one of those clear, sunny days. A spectacular sight. It was no wonder these people worshipped their summer so much. I keep using words like wonderful, beautiful and fantastic because it really was. This was not a place that had trouble living up to expectations - Stockholm exceeded everyone of our expectations, our hopes and dreams.

One day we decided we should do something outside of Stockholm. So we decided to go to Uppsala for the afternoon. Uppsala is a small but beautiful University town about an hour from Stockholm. We went up to a lady at Stockholm Central who was standing behind a desk marked "INFORMATION". By this time it was about two o'clock in the afternoon. This how the conversation went:-

Us: "Oh excuse me, I wonder if you could help us please. We wanted to go to Uppsala and were wondering if things would still be open by the time we get there".
Her: (evil look) "I don't know. I've never been to Uppsala".
Us: Oh yes okay, but we're just wondering, would it be worth going there - could we still look around the shops and see things at that time of day."
Her: (even more evil look) "I don't know. As I told you, I've never been to Uppsala".
Us: "Oh well thank you very much anyway".

Ouch! The one cold person we met in Stockholm. We met a lot of people there and I think I can safely dispel the stories that the people are cold and distant. Quite the opposite really. And we decided to go to Uppsala anyway. She could die with her secret!

Uppsala was like stepping into a postcard that says "Wish you were here". So pretty. We adored wandering through the old streets . A little creek runs through the town, crossed here and there by little bridges and walkways. The large church is an attractive but imposing building to look at. The shops were modern but not gaudy. Even the apartment buildings were tasteful. Bicycles were everywhere. Thousands of them. We took a bus out to "Old Uppsala" where the Svea Kings were buried all those centuries ago. That really felt like stepping back in time. Walking past the church, through the graveyard and along the path near the burial mounds, we FELT the history. We wanted so much to be respectful of this place and it's part in this great country's history. The burial mounds were only protected by a little fence - no guards or police or anything. Putting the responsibility on the individual to do the right thing and respect what had happened centuries ago. For an hour or so we felt like we touched a tiny fraction of this rich tapestry of Swedish history.

I was inspired, the following year, to visit a Swedish history museum. Museums aren't really my thing but again, I felt it was something I should do to show at least some respect. The museum told the story of Swedish history in a chronological fashion - from the very earliest times. I was awe-struck at what I saw, what I read and experienced. Before I left the museum I purchased a book on Swedish history and I'm glad I did. It helped put our visit to Old Uppsala the year before into some context.

Our cruise "Under The Bridges Of Stockholm" took us around some of the most beautiful parts of the harbour and under many of Stockholm's bridges. Being a city built on a series of islands, bridges are crucial. Well, this cruise was both agony and ecstasy. Ecstasy because the scenery was so breathtakingly beautiful. And the unique views of parts of the city were very much appreciated by Grant & I. Agony because of that damn bridge in "The Day Before You Came" film clip! Every bridge we came to - "that's it, that's the one" Snap. Snap. Then "oh maybe it wasn't". Sad look. At the next bridge the same dialogue and the snapping of the camera would be repeated. We had so many photos of so many bridges - which one was it? And then we saw it. It's quite unmistakeable really because it's a combination of two different styles of bridge. We snapped away in frenzied manner. And then a train went across the bridge. Jesus H. Christ! Sometimes you just gotta be lucky. Now all I have to do is go back to Stockholm and find the bloody railway station where Agnetha waited so patiently for her train.

Polar Studios (where ABBA recorded all their later material) when viewed from the outside, looked just like it did in the "Frida: Something's Going On - The Making of a Record Album" documentary. We walked down that lane on the side of the building towards the glass doors proclaiming "Polar Studio". The doors were locked (naturally) so we pressed our faces against the glass on all sorts of angles to have a sticky beak inside. We saw some of the foyer, lots of gold records and even a bit of movement. Grant pushed the button. We giggled like a couple of nervous schoolgirls. No-one answered our call. They probably thought "oh no, another couple of poofter Abba fans from Australia". Anyway, we had our fun and moved on. Sure I would have loved to have seen inside Polar Studios but I didn't feel compelled to do so. The place didn't have the same sort of hold over me that Baldersgatan 1 did.

There are a lot of second-hand record and CD shops near Polar Studios so we spent hours combing through them searching for that ultimate rarity. Forget about the fact that a million Abba fans had probably already relieved them of their rarities and collectables years ago.

Record shops figured quite prominently in our first trip to Sweden. In fact we kind of based our whole itinerary around finding them wherever they might be. On the Friday we took a T-Bana out to Solna Centrum. Ah, the Stockholm suburbs. Now we could also say we'd done the 'burbs. We were looking for a place called "Rainbow Music" that we'd heard had some great vinyl ABBA stuff. Arriving at Solna, we were distracted by the shopping centre at Solna Centrum itself. The lure of a Swedish suburban shopping mall - oh yes!!!! And it didn't hurt that there were a couple of record shops in there either.

We walked to Rainbow Music. The shop was a blast. Located at the bottom of an apartment building, it looked like it shouldn't have even been there. It took a while to find and along the way we walked past a number of Swedish people. Glowing, I just wanted to so "Hello, I'm Graeme and I'm from Australia and I love being in Sweden". Try saying this yourself with a slightly childish/retarded voice and you'll understand my delirious frame of mind. I DIDN'T talk to anyone because I suppose I thought they'd say, "Aha, you are THE Graeme Read. We've heard about you. Get out of Sweden immediately - we don't allow your type here". Oooh, those old demons surfacing again.

I've had time, since 1993, to examine why I felt and acted like this. It was really that I wanted to connect to Swedish people in some sort of real way. Meeting new people and having polite conversations is all very well but I wanted to really make contact, to touch the mind of a Swedish person or persons. To find out what they thought and felt about life. I was desperate. I wanted them to share their knowledge and feelings with me so that I could learn from them. But this was not to happen until I had visited Sweden a few more times.

Grant & I spent ages at Rainbow Music in Solna. They had a giant life sized cardboard cut out of Agnetha from the "I Stand Alone" sessions - obviously created to promote the album. Snap, snap went the camera. They had boxes full of ABBA vinyl pressings from around the world - 7", 12" and LP. Also some fabulous Harpo and Svenne & Lotta stuff. Grant went mad and the credit card was bashed quite severely. I think he could have happily moved in. The man at Rainbow tried to convince us to buy even more stuff but the prices weren't cheap so we resisted the temptation. I found a bizarre album with the exact artwork of "Greatest Hits Volume 2" but in a kind of maroon colour. It all seemed normal except it said "Greatest Hits Volume 1". Hmmm. "Best of Abba" with the GH Volume 2 artwork? Too weird. So I bought it. I also bought the 7" of "Lassie" by the Ainbusk Singers. Plus I picked up a numbered promo single that marked the re-release of all Tomas Ledin's albums on CD. And a couple of other things but we don't need to go into everything I bought, do we?

We walked back to the T-Bana station and it suddenly occurred to me that I didn't have any money left. Not even enough for a T-Bana fare. And all our RabbatKuponger (discount coupons for the train) were gone. I said to Grant, "can you buy my ticket back to Stockholm because I haven't got any money". Grant went through his pockets and realised that he didn't have any money either. We panicked. Oh God, we were stuck miles away from our hotel with no money, what were we going to do? We'd been warned to be careful with Automatic Teller Machines in other countries and since we were leaving Sweden on Sunday we daren't take the risk. What if it swallowed up the card? We paced around in a complete panic. Two responsible, intelligent 33 year old men panicking like lost children.

We walked around and around the shopping centre. The banks had all closed for the weekend. We couldn't ask anyone for help - we may be poor white trash but we didn't want people in Sweden to know we were. Suddenly we came across a post office and I had a thought, "I wonder if the post office does currency exchange?". I had about $30 Australian secreted in my wallet for when we got back to Sydney. Well, they were happy to help. They charged a 35kr fee ($7) but we thought "who cares". We would have enough to buy our tickets back to the city and after that we could get some travellers cheques from our hotel room and change them somewhere. Mini-crisis solved. Silly billies weren't we?

The price of everything in Sweden was an education for us. We knew it was an expensive country but it's not until you're there that it sinks in. And this is not a criticism, just something we experienced. A can of coke (300ml) was $2 where it was $1.20 (375ml) in Australia. A 'Magnum' Ice Cream was $1.80 in Australia but $3.50 in Sweden. The McDonalds $4 Dinner Deal was $9 in Stockholm. It cost $1 to go to the toilet in NK, the big department store (although it was a fabulous toilet I must say. I recommend it to you). CD singles were about $12, compared to $8 in Australia. The money just slipped through our fingers, if you'll pardon the pun. We kept a daily and running total of what we'd spent converted to Australian dollars and compared that to our budget. Ouch. We were massively overspent. But, what the hell, we were in Sweden. What's the point of visiting heaven if you can't buy the t-shirt?

And buy the t-shirt we did. Many of them. Most days we walked from our hotel through the old town into the city. Along the main street of Gamla Stan there are scores of tiny shops selling postcards and they're so cute you can't help but buy them. Everyday I kept buying more postcards and more souvenirs and more t-shirts. I had run out of people to send postcards to but I couldn't stop buying them. It was like I was trying to kidnap a part of Sweden and take it back to Australia with me. Both Grant and I became acutely aware that time was running out. It was like a countdown - tick, tick, tick. Like Cinderella at midnight, we would be banished from Sweden forever, and our fantasy would be over.

Åhlens, the very Swedish department store in the centre of Stockholm was a Swedophile shopper's dream. The CD department in the basement was to die for. I personally think it's better than Mega-SkivAkadamien (Stockholm's answer to HMV/Virgin). Åhlens was very well set out with tons of choice. And tons of CD singles (yay!). We had a ball. Upstairs, they had a life-sized replica of a "Boose". An animal that exists in legend - a cross between a bear and a moose. Grant was totally fascinated. He kept referring to it throughout the following year. He bought a little toy moose in Sweden in 1994 and called it "Boose". Boose takes pride of place on Grant's bed and often has to listen to his problems when Grant is having a bad day. Boose also gets lots of hugs from his owner.

There was a little shopping centre off to the side of Stockholm that had a smaller SkivAkadamien. It also had another shop with a replica of a bear in the window. The bear was called "Björn". So after that, whenever one of us mentioned the word "Björn" the other would say "Are you talking about Björn the bear or Björn from ABBA?".

We found that the price of CDs was high in Sweden ($34 versus $27 in Australia at the time) but we figured that, as you have to divide the kronor amount by five, it probably all worked out for the best. We bought ABBA, solo stuff, Josefin Nilsson, Tomas Ledin, Ratata, Svenne & Lotta, Ted, "hits" CDs of Swedish artists, CD singles by people we'd never even heard of (cos they were Swedish) and more. They also have the nice price/mid price in Sweden for some CDs (about $21) which saved us a bit. Luckily a lot of the stuff we like is back catalogue stuff. Comes from being in your thirties I suppose. And you can even have some of the tax taken off if you're from overseas. Let's face it, I went on a wild spending frenzy. I'm sure we helped Sweden's international trade deficit in just one week.

"Golden Oldies" was an testament to the old adage that "you can have anything you want in the world.....for a price". Here is a shop that's only needs to open 3 days a week and carries so many ABBA rarities it would make a Melbourne fan blush. They had everything. And I do mean EVERYTHING. All those rarities you've heard about but never seen were all there. And the most comprehensive pre-ABBA solo range I've ever seen. And multiples of things I'd never even seen one copy of. But the guy who owned the store knew how much things were worth and even made a few outrageous guesses of his own. It was downright depressing. He holds auctions-by-mail on a regular basis and must have figured that all ABBA fans had 'sucker' written on their faces. What lit up my dial the most? The legendary Frida gatefold LP - for $400 U.S. (at that time $600 Australian). And picture covers of Hootenanny Singers and Hep Stars singles from the 60's. What a blast! We bought a few modest things but nothing that we really wanted because everything was so expensive. The guy seemed quite annoyed that we had looked through his complete ABBA range and hadn't spent thousands. The reality was that we still had another 2 weeks overseas to pay for, included 10 days in America and we had already blown the budget sky high.

Laundry Day was fun. Our guide book listed only one laundry (way over the other side of town) and when we asked around all we were told was "everyone has a washing machine in Sweden". Hmmm. We carried our big bags of dirty washing to the T-Bana and caught a train to T-Centrallen and then another one to where the laundrette was. We had no idea what to expect. It was a pleasant surprise to meet the owner of the laundry who was a very nice and friendly man. He was a little embarrassed about the self-service price ($11 for one load wash/dry). We laughed as we had fully been expecting anything up to around $30 a load and would have gladly paid it. Wearing dirty clothes is just not my thing. I don't care what it takes, I need to wear clean things. While our clothes were tumbling about we took the opportunity to look around the area. Oh dear, more things to buy. There were a couple of second hand places around there and I got "ABBA - The Singles" double CD for some ridiculously cheap price. I was happy. I also got a Karin Glenmark single, "En enda röste"(?) for 5 kronor ($1). It's a beautiful and powerful song. The cover has a yellow ribbon on a red background. I don't know when or why it was recorded but I love it.

The Hard Rock Cafe was an experience and a half. There is an ABBA section at the back of the Cafe with a table and seating for six. Naturally that's where we wanted to be. When we arrived at the cafe there were, perhaps, ten to fifteen other people there. It was very quiet. We asked the waitress if we could sit next to the ABBA memorabilia and she said no we couldn't because we didn't have six people. She sat us in a small table in the middle of the floor and proceeded to take our order. Maybe she thought we hadn't ordered enough or maybe she just didn't like the look of us. Whatever the reason, she was extremely sharp and rude. After we ordered, we jumped up with the camera and looked at all the ABBA stuff on the wall. Some really great stuff. We kept looking around in case the Table Police came back and told us off. Grant pointed to a blue denim type outfit and said "that's a costume Frida wore in 1975". I said I didn't think so but he was adamant. It didn't really look familiar but I took a photo of it anyway - we were taking photos of everything so why not one more.

Our food and drink came and was consumed but we kept throwing sly glances to the ABBA wall, wanting to get back there. The waitress came up to us as we finished with a surly "is that all?" sounding like she wanted us to get out of the place. I was in no hurry to leave so I asked for ice cream. She didn't look impressed by this. We sneaked back to the ABBA wall and I had a closer look at the outfit that Grant had claimed Frida wore in 1975. It turned out to be a costume from the UK glam-pop group "The Sweet" - nothing to do with ABBA at all. As you can imagine I gave Grant a rather hard time about this. I still remind him of it today from time to time.

Madam Lash, our waitress came back as we were finishing our ice-cream to give us another of her bored, disinterested and mean looks. To her annoyance I had decided that I wanted another beer. And I invited Grant to have another one too. Well missy was none too pleased about this, rolling her eyes to the heavens ever so subtly (not). Everything was an effort for her. After we'd had our beer we were presented with the bill and Grant handed over his plastic. On the printed credit card docket was an extra line pointedly placed there for the purpose of leaving a tip. Well I had had enough of Miss Hard Faced Bitch 1993 so I pointedly wrote the exact same amount on the bottom line - not one kronor more. The look she gave me was lethal. She had really made us feel unwelcome and that we shouldn't be there. We decided that she wasn't actually Swedish, she couldn't be. We decided that she really came from "Hard-Faced-Bitch-Land" and had emigrated to Sweden with the specific mission of torturing unsuspecting tourists at the Hard Rock Cafe. Later she would push for a name change to the Hard Bitch Cafe.

We popped over to the merchandise shop and had a look at the unbelievably expensive t-shirts, caps and jumpers. Well it probably wasn't that expensive once you converted it, was it? I mean you had to divide by five to get the Australian dollar amount, didn't you? So probably it was quite cheap we convinced ourselves. Several hundred dollars later we left the Hard Bitch Cafe and headed for the hotel. I don't think people in Australia could ever understand the significance of our "Hard Rock Cafe Stockholm" t-shirts and caps because hey, it's just another city, right? Well, we wore that stuff like badges of honour. It proved we had really been there. Nobody could ever take that experience away from us.

Just down the road from the Hard Bitch Cafe we discovered a wonderful home-away-from-home - "The Down Under Bar". This bar/restaurant was decorated in the style of an outback Australian hotel complete with real outback signs ("Wombats Next 5 km" and so on) and some authentic memorabilia. They served Fosters beer and the menu had been "Australianised" or so they thought. I've never seen chicken breasts called "Chook Tits" before but we were pissing ourselves laughing so much it didn't matter. I had to take a photo. I imagined they'd be impressed to have two real Aussies patronising their establishment. My mind told me that some wayward Aussie had probably set this place up as a tribute to our homeland. Wrong, wrong, wrong!

Apparently the owner, a Swede, had visited Australia and was so impressed he/she decided to bring a little bit of it back to Stockholm. We weren't complaining. Obviously they would speak perfect English like everyone else in Stockholm so I wandered up to order a drink in English. Big Mistake!!! No-one but no-one in this place spoke any English. Trying to order something was so painful it was really funny. It only heightened the experience for us. Imagine travelling to the other side of the world only to (1) find an Australian bar and then (2) realise that no-one on the staff spoke English or had even been to Australia! What a hoot! We loved it. I love that kind of irony and those kinds of crazy experiences.

Our poor waitress was beside herself because she couldn't understand us. We didn't care because she smiled and laughed and played along with us - in short, she made us feel welcome. Grant did a rather bizarre combination of hand gestures and lots of pointing to order his food. In the end the mission was accomplished and Grant received exactly what he'd ordered. A piece of pizza it was I seem to remember. Ten dollars for one piece? That wasn't too expensive, was it? Don't forget, you have to divide by 5. Yes, of course we'll have another beer. The special was "Latt Öl" (light beer) for just 25 kronor ($5) a glass. Bargain! Especially after you divided by five.

This hotel/bar/restaurant theme continues with my visit(s) to 'RFSL' which is the Swedish Gay Rights organisation. They have a bookshop, cafe, meeting place, offices, bar and disco all in one central building in Stockholm (on the same street as Hard Bitch Cafe & Down Under Bar). I'd been in the bookshop to pick up a copy of the "Rosa Rummet Gay Guide" already. However I was very excited about the prospect of meeting and talking with Gay Swedish people. Let's face it, I was excited about meeting anything or anyone Swedish at that point. One night, while Grant was safely tucked up in bed watching Swedish TV programs, I dressed up to the nines in my leather biker jacket that I thought made me look so cool (everyone else read: mutton dressed up as lamb) and headed off to RFSL.

Do you like trains? I do. I'd probably be called a trainspotter or a nutter in England. I loved the Stockholm underground railway system - the T-Bana. The stations were often unique and carved directly out of the stone. The service was reasonably priced and efficient. And it was fun! "8 vagnar" to tell you the train would have 8 cars. Posters for Swedish margarine, movies and even a sale at IKEA. One station even had posters advertising trips to Australia for just 8995 kronor. Bargain! All those gorgeous Swedish station names like Radmansgatan, Mariatorget, T-Centrallen and Hotörget (which I kept calling "Hooterville" after the 1960's American sitcom, "Petticoat Junction"). Why don't we get off at Hooterville Grant?

I rocked into the RFSL bar and disco feeling as nervous as hell. They'd probably point and say "there's that funny old poof from Australia". I checked every nook and cranny of the building, upstairs and downstairs. I was mighty impressed that Swedish Gays were so organised they had such an impressive facility. Once in the main disco/club area I walked up to the bar. I'd noticed about 5 or 6 totally gorgeous blonde Swedish men by this point and the thought "cut your losses Graeme, kill yourself now" kept flashing in my head. I ignored it and ordered a beer. Hmmm. $8 for a beer in a glass that was probably somewhere between 275-350ml. Well, I reasoned, you have to divide everything by five, so don't worry about it.

There wasn't much happening in the disco/club area so I moved into their quiet bar area. There were small tables set up in a cafe-type arrangement with picnic style table-cloths. I bought another drink and sat by myself. I sat there thinking about everything that had happened and everything that might still happen while we were in Sweden. I wasn't lonely because I was still in a state of euphoria: here I was - actually in Sweden. However I was desperate to talk to a Swede. "Hello, I'm from Australia. Won't somebody talk to me and tell me about their life in Sweden?". You can't really do that so I let the thought stay in my head where it belonged.

Two guys and a girl were at the next table and they kept glancing in my direction, smiling at me. Eventually they spoke to me in Swedish and I panicked, "Oh god, they'll hate me because I've come to their country and I don't know the language and I don't know the customs and I don't know anything and I'm useless…" I wanted to run out of the building. When I'm in a foreign country I want to be respectful of the people and their customs and try not to do anything to offend anyone. After all, I am a guest.

I didn't run away, I took a deep breath and apologised for not being able to speak Swedish and told them I was visiting from Australia. Well, they immediately invited me to their table. I moved over and we began to talk. Like many Stockholmers they were embarrassed about their English skills. And like many Stockholmers they spoke English better than I did. I kept reassuring them that their English was fine and that I was the one who should be embarrassed for visiting the country without having made even the most basic effort to learn their language. We chatted about all sorts of things. Main topics were politics, life in Sweden and life in Australia (they had the typical image of kangaroos hopping down the main street of Sydney. I set them straight and gave them the facts). They seem bemused that anyone would want to spend their holidays in Sweden so I set them straight about that too. A lot of people I met in Sweden were very self-effacing about their capital and their country. Didn't they realise they were living in the promised land? They thought of Australia and New Zealand as dream places to live. I gave them a long list of the wonderful things about Sweden and Swedish people. I lectured them I suppose. (As I am apt to do).

Two of them worked in a Swedish institution for people with severe mental/psychiatric disabilities. They washed, cleaned and fed the patients. They looked after them and tried to keep them happy. I felt quite small listening to the stories about their work. It put my life into perspective quick smart. We chatted for ages. They got some drinks for themselves and apologised for not buying me one. I said don't be silly. I realised that Swedish people generally don't shout or go rounds because alcohol is so expensive it's just not feasible. I had five beers that night and it cost $40. No wonder I've seen some Swedes give their credit card to the barman at the beginning of a night out and have all their drinks added to the total. Drinking alcohol was a luxury in Sweden and going out to do it even more so.

One of the guys had heard that all Australian men were very well endowed and asked me about it straight out. I nearly choked on my drink as I explained that this was just another myth about Australia and it certainly wasn't true, at least in my case at any rate. He seemed disappointed. I quickly changed the topic. Our conversation went on and on and they ended up inviting me for dinner at their place later in the week. Unfortunately I couldn't make it but it was lovely to have the invitation. Again, so much for these "coldly perfect" Swedes. What a big lie that is.

I returned to 'RFSL' a few more times and always had a wonderful time. I've heard it has closed down now which makes me sad. Where do I go now when I want a night out in Stockholm?

After a thoroughly satisfying night it was time for my next challenging. Getting a taxi in Sweden and having it take me to the right hotel. I waved one down, climbed in and tried to sound confident, "Mariatorget". He nodded and off we went. Shortly afterwards we arrived at my hotel. I thought "with my Swedish we'll end up in Gothenburg." But it all went very smoothly. I popped into the 7-11 to buy stuff I didn't need. Anyway, those Swedish cans of Coke were so dinky you could always do with one more. Just smile a lot and hand them the money. If they say something, smile even more. If that doesn't work, start crying!

One of our priorities in visiting Sweden involved the album cover for "The Visitors". I'd always been intrigued by it. And, after an American fan wrote to me many years ago saying that he "didn't like the cover of The Visitors album because he didn't approve of the things it suggested", I absolutely fell in love with it. Julius Kronberg's Atelje (studio) was located in Skansen, a kind of open air museum and zoo. It was in this studio that Abba had posed for the cover of 'The Visitors' and 'One of Us'. We headed out to Skansen.

We had a good look around at everything before heading to the studio. We wanted to appear cool. No point rushing there, foaming at the mouth. On our travels we saw a lot of animals including "Björn the Bear" (again). Why are all the bears in Stockholm - both real and stuffed - called Björn? Why aren't they called Benny?

We moved towards Kronberg's studio in a relaxed fashion (Abba fans? Us? Don't be silly!). It was a tiny little building that looked like it came right off the pages of an old book. Apparently it was originally located elsewhere in Sweden and had been relocated to be part of Skansen. We went up to the door and........it was locked. Dammit! A sign said it was only open on certain days of the week. I had a tizzy fit right there on the spot. Thoughts of breaking the lock rushed to mind and then left just as quickly. What to do? Give up? Or come up with a devious plan to get our own way?

We put our nasty-thinking hats on and conspired to develop a plan. It went something like this. I rushed up to the information centre at Skansen a little out of breath, a little emotional; 'We've just come all the way from Australia to see Julius Kronberg's studio and it's closed. I can't believe it."

They looked at me cautiously. Was this man about to pull out a gun? "Sir, the studio is only open on certain days of the week". Me, acting even more agitated: "Well, we've come all the way from Australia for one reason, to see Julius Kronberg's studio. How can it be closed?". They were looking seriously concerned at this point.

The woman serving me directly made a telephone call to someone. She then advised me that there was a walking tour of Skansen at 1pm. This tour had now been completely diverted so that Grant and I could see inside Julius Kronberg's studio. Bad luck for anyone on the tour who didn't want to see it! I "calmed down" and thanked them profusely for their help. All we had to do now was wait until 1pm.

For the next 1½ hours we walked around Skansen again. We paced. We argued about nothing. The anticipation was getting to us. Finally, at 1pm, we were at the meeting point for the tour. It turned out to be a very intimate affair with only a few other people joining us. A lady in a rather strange but cute costume, presumably of some historical importance, arrived to be our tour guide. She was wonderful.

She took us into wooden cabins and showed us how Swedes would have lived hundreds and hundreds of year ago. Let's just say the term "studio apartment" didn't come to mind. Everything was so cramped. No privacy. The beds and furniture were, umm, let's just say "pre-Ikea". Our tour guide's commentary was fascinating. I felt my mind being broadened just listening to her. It was no longer enough for me just to be an Abba fan and be fixated about Sweden - I now wanted to know as much as I could about this country and it's people.

The big moment arrived. She fumbled with some keys and finally turned the lock that opened the studio. The other people on the tour strolled in casually. Grant and I maintained an eery silence while both feeling completely hysterical inside. It was dark and much smaller than we'd imagined. Our guide opened the curtains to let some light in. I gasped. The painting. That painting. It was gi-normous. It dominated the room, dominated everything. And the colours of the room were shocking to me. Nothing like the cover of the "Visitors", no reds and dark browns. Everything had been achieved with careful placement of photographic lighting.

I was overwhelmed. I took a flash photo. Not allowed. Told off. I fumbled with the camera to take some more shots without the flash. The furniture wasn't in the right places. I tried to take everything in but I was panicking, acutely aware of the few short minutes we would have in this magnificent room. We took photos of each other ala "The Visitors" cover. We looked around again. And then it was over - time to leave.

We thanked the guide over and over again and even asked if we might take a photograph of her. She reluctantly agreed. Somehow we had to preserve as much of this experience as possible. We stumbled out of Skansen and headed back to our hotel. How could I have realised, on December 7th, 1981 when I received my first copy of "The Visitors", that 12 years later I would have had a close-encounter like this?

At this point, I'm going to tell you something about my first trip to Sweden that I've only told a couple of people. I've only told a couple of people because I am really quite ashamed of it. I preface this by saying that I believe that there is a line that you don't cross as an ABBA fan. I would never go to Agnetha's farm and hang around the front waiting for her. Likewise I would never have hidden down the street from the houses of members of ABBA and jumped out at them when they appeared (like many fans did years ago). I just don't think it's right to do this kind of thing. I feel it is an invasion of privacy. It's crossing over the line. Well, having said that, I have my own little story to tell.

The first time I went to Sweden I was a little unsure of the Polar/Mono situation. I hadn't really kept up with all the details of the sale of Polar and which staff went where and so on. I didn't really know what the situation was with Görel. I knew she was working out of Mono but I didn't feel confident enough to call her and say "hey, it's me! Your nightmare from Australia, can I pop in and say hello?". I just couldn't do it. So I did something really tacky that I'm still mortified by today.

I looked up the address of Görel's apartment in the phone book and went around there with Grant and had my photo taken next to the intercom button saying "Hanser". Isn't that the slackest thing you've ever heard? To make it worse we hung around out the front of her building for about half an hour. It is a very expensive neighbourhood and we must have looked like burglars to people walking by. They gave us some very interesting looks. We then proceeded to walk around the little park area across from her building and look up into the windows of the apartment block to see if we could see anything. I am SO mortified telling you all this. It's really one of the tackiest things I've done (and believe me, there have been a few).

After it was over we felt very dirty and ashamed so we hopped on the T-Bana and went back to our hotel feeling very guilty and naughty. In the interests of good taste and rescuing some of my self esteem I didn't repeat that tawdry little episode when I visited Sweden again in '94 and '95.

On our last night before flying back to London, Grant was feeling very tired and wanted to stay in the hotel room and go to bed. I was itching to go out for a walk and try and touch Stockholm again for one last time. But how? I couldn't very well go around hugging buildings or those cute Swedish Polis would have me arrested. I decided that a walk through Gamla Stan would be the go and so I headed there. It was summer and the shops were open, the bars were full of people and I strolled contentedly through the old town on my own. I wanted to stop everyone and say thank you for your country, thank you for letting me come here for a week and thanks for being so kind to me. But I didn't. I just kept walking, filled with a wonderful kind of emotion. I had tears running down my face as I walked through the main street of the old town and I'm sure I looked a sight but I didn't care. This was my own private moment with Sweden, the closest I'll ever get to my own version of Agnetha's "We Move As One" clip.

I wanted to write to or phone someone in the Government and say "yes, you've got it right, it's a wonderful place and make sure you always look after it". I felt I should thank someone important in Sweden for letting experience this magic for one week of my life.

Have you ever gone somewhere for the first time and immediately felt at home? This was how it was with Sweden for me. Someone told me it was probably because I had lived in Sweden in a past life. Whatever the reason, I just felt immediately comfortable in Stockholm, like I belonged there. In some ways it felt like I was going back to somewhere I'd already known, not like visiting a completely new city and country for the first time.

I know I had rose coloured glasses about Stockholm and Sweden - and I still do after five visits - but to me there's no other place like it. The tourism people call Stockholm "Venice of the North". That kind of bullshit really annoys me. Stockholm doesn't need to be compared to any other city to be validated. It validates itself. A lot of people by-pass Sweden on their tours of Europe. I will never be able to understand this. All I can say to them is "your loss buddy". And such a loss. They'll never know the "beauty on water" that is Stockholm.

I know that there are serious problems with the economy and that unemployment and the recent influx of immigrants is causing ghetto and racial problems. I know that street violence is on the increase. I know that the social welfare system is under an enormous strain, almost to the point of collapse. I know that many Swedes are worried about what the future will hold for them. And I've been to Rinkeby (a troubled suburb of Stockholm) with Gustav. We were the only white people there and it was terrifying. I guessed if I could talk to the immigrants living in Rinkeby, they would have their own hardships to report. But for christ's sake - what city/country in the world doesn't have it's own Rinkeby? All cities and countries, no matter how advanced have similar social and economic problems.

I personally always felt safe and secure in Stockholm. I walked through the streets alone more than once after midnight and all I felt was deliriously happy. God knows, I certainly wouldn't do such a thing in Sydney.

As we were leaving Sweden, the annual Stockholm Water Festival was just beginning. We watched transfixed as this sedate city suddenly came alive with tents, makeshift stages and temporary buildings. Transformation doesn't even begin to describe it. An empty bridge now alive with a hundred tents, each representing a different Swedish product or service. Activity everywhere. Construction everywhere. Something incredible was just about to happen to the capital of Sweden and we had to leave. What a bummer. Even Grant felt torn between continuing on our overseas adventure or staying here to join in this festival of festivals. There was no hint, at that point, that just twelve months later we would be compelled to come back to this place just to experience this festival for ourselves.

We were very quiet on the bus ride to Arlanda Airport the next day. We were locked into a tight itinerary and really could not spend any extra time in Sweden. We had to go. But perhaps it was for the best. How many more days would be "enough time"? Two, five...twenty??? I bought more bits and pieces at the airport even though I was already loaded up with trinkets. I'd even bought a giant sized Swedish flag during the week to take home. Sad, isn't it?

We boarded our flight a very sad couple of boys. And then something else amazing happened.

A woman, around 30ish sat next to us. All the women in Sweden look like they're thirty - even if they're actually 60! She saw our depressed looks and how I kept looking through my Swedish postcards over and over and over again. So she struck up a conversation with us. She was travelling with her family for a holiday to London. They looked like the perfect Swedish family - Mum, Dad and two beautiful kids. She was so open and friendly it almost shamed Grant and I. She asked us many questions and we struck up a wonderful rapport. In the end she gave us her address and invited us to stay with her family next time we visited Sweden. Can you believe that? Honestly, can you believe that? We were dumbfounded. How much more of this beautiful thing called Sweden/Swedish/Swedes could we take? Virtually everyone had welcomed us with open arms and made us feel like they were glad to have us in Sweden. It was more than I could ever have asked as a 16 year old boy who often dreamed and fantasized about Sweden.

I still have the t-shirts and postcards that I bought in Sweden 4 years ago. The t-shirts are quite ratty now but I can't bear to part with them. My postcards are all packed away in a box in the storage centre. I took over 1,000 photos during the 5½ weeks that Grant I were overseas; a sizeable proportion of those were taken in Sweden. I still have all the bus tickets, train tickets and other rubbish we assembled during that magical week in Stockholm. We even have a serviette from "Clock" (Swedish pizza place). Now and then, when I'm feeling a bit silly, I pull out the old photo albums and relive the memories for one more time.

You must see this city and this country if you can. You must experience it for yourself. What you see with your own eyes will be very much your own experience, not mine. And it's not just about ABBA. Maybe it was once, but not anymore. In 1995, on my third visit to Stockholm I didn't even "do" any ABBA sights. I just enjoyed the city and it's people. Fulfil your ABBA needs if you have to, but don't neglect Sweden itself in the process. It seems ABBA has given us yet another gift, that of awakening us to a special place many of us would probably have never considered visiting in normal circumstances.

It took me thirty three years to visit heaven on earth. I've now been to Sweden 5 times and am about to head off for a 6th time. Each time I have had a fantastic experience. Thesedays the thrill of meeting Swedish ABBAMAILers keeps pulling me back there.

But nothing will ever eclipse the euphoria of that first time.

Graeme Read
Sydney, Australia

NOW TAKE THE TRIP IN PICTURES.....