Scandinavia

One of my favourite places I’ve visited over the years has been Scandinavian.  I think it’s because it looks superficially so similar to Europe, but is so different when you get up close.  I’m afraid that I’m not experienced enough to be able to tell much of a difference between Norway and Sweden (sorry Kasja!), so for the purposes of this blog, I’m going to say Sweden, but it could mean either.

I went a few times with work, and my traveling companion was a Swedish colleague from Stockholm.  As ever, when you travel with someone you get to talk about stuff other than work, and I can clearly remember a fierce argument about whether rabbits eat their own poo.  I should say for the record, they do, and I won.  Anyway, my actual point is that travelling with a local has its ups and downs.  The ups are that they know where all the decent bars in downtown are, the downsides is that as a result you ending getting the bill, and Stockholm must be the most expensive place ever for drinking

But as Travolta, said, it’s the little differences (man).  The most extreme is clearly the weather. Leaving a spring like London mid-April with blue skies and daffodils making the big push for it, I was a bit upset as we descended into Arlanda airport to see everything was grey, dead and covered in that horrid snow that’s been chewed up by cars into a black mush.  Still, getting a transfer to the hours flight north, I was pleased to see that the airport had lots of IKEA-esque chairs and wood, but was then terrified by the air stewardess doing the safety announcement in Swedish (I KNEW what she was saying from the gestures and the life vest being waved about, but what happens if they do it different here?? What about the moose?), and then pleased to see as we landed, that it was knee-deep in snow.

Proper snow. Like you see on Christmas cards. You know, deep and crisp and even.  I will confess that I bounded out of Arrivals, abandoned my suitcase, and dived into the snow. As my colleague emerged through the doors, I hurled a snowball at her.  I can safely say that if I had thrown a dog-poo flan at her, I would have not got a worse response.  Apparently, because they spend their entire lives clearing paths, digging the car out and generally wishing for May, when it’s all gone,  snow is not funny (snow joke??). We don’t apparently throw snow balls in April. Everyone else was staring at me, and as my colleague apologized for barking, she explained that there is a time and a place for this sort of thing, and Swedish regional airport car parks are apparently not the place. I spent the rest of the day crestfallen and a bit sulky

So as I raised, it’s a horrifically expensive place to go drinking.  Other things I’d noticed were:

1.The reason why Scandinavians make the best rally drivers are because a. they all drive like maniacs b. the roads outside of the main towns are just the tarmac-ed bits of the ice sheet. 

NEVER accept a lift from a local if you are running late for your flight.  ‘Its OK’ the chap said in his best comedy Swedish chef voice, ‘I think we can make it’.  Soling yourself in Scandinavia is a great name for a punk band, but it’s something I can live without the imminent prospect of again

2. Fish. Everything has got fish in it. They smoke it and eat it.  They bury it, then eat. They eat it raw. They eat it for breakfast. I like fish. But I got haddocked out, and came home longing for broccoli and mashed potato

3. Despite what I’d be led to believe growing up in the UK, it’s not wall to wall porn on the TV. And God knows I spent hours in my hotel looking.  However, every single person on their TV does look like they should be in ‘Abba – The Musical’.  This was scant consolation

4. They make the British look like the Italians for emotional outbursts.  I sat in a meeting and delivered a groveling apology for something my company had done, and the chap I was talking to barely moved a facial muscle.  I was told afterwards that apparently I’d blown him away with my candor and groveling, but for all I can could tell, I may as well have read him the Rugby League results from June 1975

5. They are friendly, tolerant, and enormous fun. Frankly, ignoring the snow, the weird light and the mental driving, it’s one of my favourite places I’ve ever been to.