“Why did you come here in the winter?”
That’s the question we heard time and time again as local Swedes scratched their heads and glared at the sky with a subtle snarl. Indeed, the weather was not pleasant. A damp cold highlighted by occasional sleet ruled the day, and the streets of Stockholm were filled with the kind of dirty snow that’s no fun to play in and even less fun to walk through.
To make the long dark winter bearable, Swedes spend their time scurrying between cozy cafes and inviting bars, and we followed suit, hunkering down for $10 beers and cardamom flavored pastries called semla. Rather than glaring neon “open” signs, pubs and eateries lure visitors with curbside candles that give a certain medieval charm to the crooked streets and cobblestone alleyways.
We were told that it was possible to ice skate long distances between Stockholm’s islands, but a “warm” snap meant that the only ice we saw was drifting downstream in sheets the size of Turkish rugs. Nevertheless, this was not the winter wonderland we had envisioned for Amanda’s 30th birthday extravaganza. In fact it was downright gross.
I wrote those words the night we boarded the overnight train bound for the arctic circle. I was admittedly suffering from a bout of traveler self-doubt, wondering if it was a mistake to come to Sweden in February. But oh, what a difference a single night makes.
I awoke occasionally during the northward journey. Each time my jet-lagged eyes cracked open, I wasn’t sure if they were telling the truth. Around 3:00 AM heavy snows began to fall from above, and at least a foot of snow blanketed the ground. We stopped at a village train station (who lives this far north? Apparently a lot of people) where ice swords clung to ornate rooflines. Green strobes from the train give split second views of the soft landscape. But they were only hints.
Rural Swedes have a delightful custom of “leaving the light on” with almost every home highlighted by a warm lamp in a picture window. This could stem from a tradition of survival for all I know – a beacon to find your way home in a storm – but for our train journey, it reeked of quintessential hominess.
At 7:00 the sun began a low, lazy slide across the landscape. I awoke with an, “Oh WOW!” Fresh snow loads filled the trees and bunny tracks skittered here and there. Dense boreal forests seem to go on forever. It felt as though we were on a Christmas carriage bound for Santa’s workshop, and suddenly the decision to come to Sweden made sense.
The dreary weather of Stockholm had been replaced by bluebird skies in a magical kingdom of northern lights and Father Christmas. Traveler self-doubt had been replaced by the rush of freshness and anticipation. On the side of the tracks, deer antlers and a rib cage protrude from the snow. Wolf or lynx tracks (or both) circled the carcass. What other new thing will we see? What new delight does Swedish Lapland have in store for us?
Why did you come here in wintertime? Perhaps those in Stockholm just need to spend the night on a train and wake up in the far, FAR north to find out.