Gothenburg - A Monday of Fika

Gothenburg, a Monday in August, the day after Copenhagen. A city of blue trams, cobblestones and terraces, where people take their time: fika, the coffee and pastry break no Swede ever skips, sets the pace of the day.

The blue trams.

In the morning, the city glides along its rails. A blue tram stops at the crossing, a passer-by crosses with headphones on and a shopping bag in hand, an elderly couple holds hands under the trees. Nothing is in a hurry.

Fika time.

By late morning, the terraces fill up. A waiter watches over a table covered with cinnamon buns as big as plates, customers read in the sun, and a white-bearded man has sat down on a yellow bench, book in hand, in front of a liquorice shop.

Haga.

In the old Haga district, Haga Nygata lines up its brick and wooden facades, their bay windows and their terraces. A woman in a red skirt walks up the cobbles, a man lunches alone under an awning, and a teddy bear has taken a seat on a bench to watch the strollers go by.

The afternoon in town.

In the afternoon, Gothenburg stretches out. A man in a panama hat talks on the phone while holding his bicycle, a woman lies down on a big white bench with her dog, another checks her phone among the scooters. Three passers-by with a pirate look cross a square with a small black dog, and in the evening, a woman in turquoise heads home from her shopping.