getting caught in the rain

It's not as romantic as it used to be for me. During the summer in New Mexico, I used to dash outside at the slightest sound of rain, padding around the yard barefoot and careful in our flooded pebble garden. I'd stand under our pitiful grapevine that provided minimal cover, feeling the stray drops on my head. If it was heavy enough, I'd run out to the street where water rushed along the curb like a little river and just stand in it. Rain became more miserable the older I got. Now I had to tread to class in it, try not to get soaked in it before having to sit through an hour-long lecture that was often as dreary as it felt outside. I hated the sound of squeaky shoes and the smell of dampness and the way little mud puddles formed on the floors of buses.

I had left my raincoat at Nancy's just before catching my flight to Copenhagen because the get-your-shit-together ship had sailed with my wallet, but I thought, with no knowledge of late summer weather in Scandinavia, "Whatever, it's fine, it won't rain." Uncharacteristically optimistic of me.

Gothenburg welcomed me with storm clouds and a steady stream of tears. And I resisted an umbrella as long as I could. After all, it was very start and stop in Copenhagen/Stockholm so that I never needed one. But I finally ducked into a grocery store, soaked through and cold and caved to an overpriced mini red umbrella.

The rain felt romantic again.

The entire city felt deserted. Because I was the only crazy person walking along the river and through public gardens in those conditions.
Just a girl. Trying to find herself. In the rain. Under her red umbrella.

I'm being misleading. There was one perfect morning in Gothenburg.
Unfortunately, the limiting factor was weird weekend hours. Opened late, closed early, or just not open at all.

I chose Kale'i Kaffebar because one online source claimed to have a Turkish yogurt bar. Something about a yogurt bar just seemed very refreshing despite my usual distaste for milk.

But because none of my expectations in Gothenburg were met - the main reason why I chose the city in the first place was to ferry down to Vrångö, which didn't work out because finicky weather - there was no Turkish yogurt bar to be found. This is why you shouldn't latch onto finicky ideas (or things or places or people).

I kind of blindly ordered their vegetarian smørrebrød/sandwich option, which was some sort of cheese thing with seeds and roe on thin pieces of rye. And cucumbers, red onion, dill, parsley, and green leaves.

Yes, it was as refreshing as it looks. Yes, it powered me through the day. Yes, I was obsessed with the lights.
Also I ferried to Brännö instead.

I left my romantic red umbrella in Gothenburg, outside the Airbnb. After I reminded myself to grab it during my morning routine. Oh well, hopefully it won't rain in Malmö.
Famous last words.
Sort of.
It only poured for an afternoon on the second day where I got trapped in AB Smaland on the way back from window shopping and food trekking. There are worse places to have to spend your time. Yet another cute cafe at first glance. But walk in further, and it's a clothing store. And climb up the escalator, and it's an art studio. A loop of photographs were projected onto a screen, and I spread out on the low-to-the-ground couch to veg in a public space in the dark while waiting for the rain to pass.
I was too proud and poor to buy another umbrella.

Backtracking to how I ended up there in the first place...
I had read that Malmö particularly loves their falafel. And it's one of the cheaper options for a complete meal that you won't regret.
It started getting windy and ominous on my way to Shawarma Specialisten where I picked up a falafel (with added roasted eggplant because the dude's ex is Chinese) wrap and power-walked back as quick as I could.

Got distracted by the grocery store. Characteristically me. They say to never grocery shop while hungry, so I went grocery shopping while eating. This falafel wrap... let's just say amazing. It as the length of my forearm. For about $2. Everything you want for a falafel and roasted eggplant with pickles for texture in a sturdy pita blanket.

Second place for most interesting thing I found in the grocery store (after caviar in a tube) was this blueberry juice box. That I translated to blueberry soup. Logically, blueberry soup is just pureed blueberries with stuff is just blueberry juice really, which isn't a novelty. But something about the word "soup" changed everything. I began wondering if maybe it was savory. But it's packaged in a juice box and placed in the drink aisle, so it must be.. sweet? I could anticipate the food regret if it turned out to be cloyingly sweet with fake blueberry flavor as I was purchasing it. It wasn't. It was thick, with little bits of seeds, and just barely sweet. And I felt real cool, sipping on a juice box on the streets of Malmö. This is what locals do, yeah?