Notes from a taxi

On a late May night, I sit in the backseat of a taxi, cruising through the heart of Stockholm. Perhaps Iʼve just left a party or a lively dinner with friends. As we travel through a city caught between night and day, spring and summer, my conversation with the driver becomes a doorway to parallel worlds ̶ stories, testimonies, and glimpses into the lives of the people who call this city home.

The tunnel spits us out from the underworld. It is 10 minutes past 1 at night. May 25th. We are in the middle of Stockholm, the central station can be seen if looking back to the right and a Sheraton hotel to the left. Behind us, we share the streetscape with buildings representing power - the Ministry of Finance, the Ministry of Defense, and the less democratic - Boston Consulting Group. Rosenbad, the home of the Swedish Government, is a stone’s throw away.

We drive fast, along the Central Bridge, passing Ragnar Östberg’s City Hall. I see the old town’s blended buildings - Nordic austere, Baroque ornamentations and the squiggly designs from the Rococo era, standing side by side like a long composite backdrop. A subway squeaks as it drives by on a separate bridge to my left. The traffic apparatus cuts like a wound through the historic city.

A red light at an intersection. I open the window slightly, the rhythmic ticking of the turn signals seems to beat in sync with the music the driver is playing. A drunken man staggers and falls. Drops his smoke, looks like he hurt himself. A couple on the same side of the street takes a big turn around him, so as not to get close. One of them, a woman, pauses, stops, turns as if to help. The one she’s holding hands with doesn’t let go, but keeps walking, they’re linked now by only one finger. He pulls her, in that one finger, come, we’re going. The drunk has sat down on the ground. Crying quietly behind his hand. The woman seems to confer with herself for a second, then turns and walks away. Hand in hand with her lover.

how long he’s been driving a taxi, if he enjoys it. He begins to talk about his first time as a taxi driver. After living in Sweden for 17 years, it was like getting to know Stockholm all over again, he says.

things in their lives. Or just small talk. A bit like you imagine a bartender in an old movie, haha. The car becomes this semi-public, moveable space.”

We’re driving on Ringvägen past Zinken now, Tanto.

”I quickly learned where to stop with the taxi and take a break in peace and quiet. Sit on the hood and roll a cigarette. Alone. With my city. I thought of Per Anders Fogelström a lot. You know, he who wrote the Mina Drömmars Stad-series, depicting Stockholm, its working class people, their lives, struggles, and loves. I think during the second half of the 19th century? I remember trying to recall all the characters in his books. Where Henning wandered, if I could understand where Lotten’s job was. Was that her name by the way? Maybe it was Emelie.

The taxi rolls on. The driver clears his throat, I ask

“I remember when I was studying to get my taxi license - I taped up maps of the city on all the walls of my rented room. Skarpnäck, Akalla, Sköndal, Handen, Norrmalm, Reimersholme... Stockholm’s contours, lines, waterways, subway network and of course roads. In my dreams, I moved through the streets of Stockholm. For the first time in my life I dreamed in Swedish. I tried to understand how it was all connected. How the tunnels are linked, how the biggest streets in the road network are woven together with all the smaller ones. Where there are one-way streets, where you can park. Where the large, and small, public squares are. The most popular ones, as well as the more hidden ones. Where there is always a crowd on weekend nights, thanks to concerts, karaoke, sports games, underground bars, strip clubs or whatever. At first it felt like an insurmountable task. I remember the first nights I drove. Those summer nights driving on Västerbron, amazed every time by the endless views, the feeling of freedom the job gave. Of course just an imagined freedom, but it was like that, then. I remember how Stockholm suddenly felt so beautiful, a bit like falling in love with your partner all over again. How the city belonged to no one and everyone. How it belonged to me. I have never felt so at home in the city as during that initial period.

As a taxi driver, you get to be part of a person’s life for a short while, you just get thrown right in. Many people talk to you, you know, tell you profound, tough things in their lives. Or just small talk. A bit like you imagine a bartender in an old movie, haha. The car becomes this semi-public, moveable space.”

We’re driving on Ringvägen past Zinken now, Tanto.

”I quickly learned where to stop with the taxi and take a break in peace and quiet. Sit on the hood and roll a cigarette. Alone. With my city. I thought of Per Anders Fogelström a lot. You know, he who wrote the Mina Drömmars Stad-series, depicting Stockholm, its working class people, their lives, struggles, and loves. I think during the second half of the 19th century? I remember trying to recall all the characters in his books. Where Henning wandered, if I could understand where Lotten’s job was. Was that her name by the way? Maybe it was Emelie.

I remember learning which late-night shops let you borrow the toilet. Always at Reza’s on Renstiernas gata, always at Samira’s on Odenplan, never at Anton’s in Huddinge.”

We drive on. He tells me what a normal night can look like, short fragments, about how in a matter of minutes you can find yourself in diametrically opposed worlds.

“One moment you’re holding the car door open for princesses and dukes at Haga, only to 1 hour later drop off a prostitute at her home in a sleepy so-called suburb, in front of a sleepy 3-story building, after a night on the town, on the streets. Then the remote pings and it can be a new fare with pickup from Vita Liljans väg to Grevgatan, Östermalm - the posh part of the city.”

Vita Liljans väg, Bredäng. Narrow, long, up to 9-storey tall 1960’s tower blocks are laid out in a west-east direction in a green landscape. Close to the water. Constructed during the Million Programme era. At the intersection with Concordiavägen, Bredäng must have its highest point? At the top of those houses, you have a view that goes on for miles, both towards Stockholm’s inner city and out over the southern parts. If you stand on one of the balconies on New Year’s Eve, you have the glittering crowns of the fireworks at eye level. Giving the impression you can catch them with your hand.