the trilingual town that has no zoo

In the days of my great anxiety, when the mere thought of travelling makes me shiver, I have learned to love my town.

Here are warm cafés smelling of butter and sugar, here is every fifth person a student and everyone is remarkable, here is a hospital where handsome doctors take care of anxious people.

Here is wine and innumerable distractions and a vast library. Ice vistas stretching towards a distant horizon, parks where sparrows chitter. Back streets smelling of garlic and melted cheese. People chasing dogs chasing hares. Admirable people distributing lentil soups to alcoholics. Streets named Rauhankatu and Stora Långgatan.

Here, bosses treat you to pizza from the Eighties and someone gives you cake left over from a secret order meeting. You feel at home in a small gym hidden away in an international hotel. Everything is bilingual or trilingual. Here are back alleys where boats are stored in winter, cannons and second-hand shops. Wood smoke on the wind. Wind turbine blades stopping traffic. Friends and sisters who want to have lunch with you. Here nobody wears the same, green winter coat as you do.

The only thing missing is a zoo.