Tuesday: We Begin Our Descent into Polite Chaos
One late September afternoon, we (Peg and yours truly) began our journey to Sweden.
Pilot: “Please fasten your seat belts, and put up your tray tables.”
Peg from her extra-leg-room throne: “Except us!! We do what we want!”
Peg’s flight attendant LOVED her. They traded stories about tattoos and travel. She got extra croissants. The flight attendant on my side was skeptical of my presence. It was potentially a mistake to wear socks with sandals on a German-run flight. When I asked if there was milk in the breakfast, she shrugged and walked away. For sustenance, I stole Peg’s croissants.
In my jet-lagged state, I decided to (loudly and insistently) regale Peg with the intricacies of fruit purchasing in Latin America: “When you’re in Latin America, you can’t just go around squeezing people’s fruit—you have to build trust first.”
Peg: “So I need a shirt that says Squeeze My Fruit?”
Yes, I hear it now. No, I did not hear it then. PS Someone please make me that shirt.
Wednesday: The Land of Beige Dreams
Our comfy seats didn’t survive the transfer to the next plane.
Peg: “We’re in steerage now, Mollie.”
Me: “We were meant to live for so much more!”
Peg: “Would I friend-prostitute myself for business class? Absolutely.”
When the guidebook politely suggested wearing neutrals to “fit in” while traversing Stockholm, it was not optional—it was a mandate. No one wears color. And they all dress the same. Spotted two neon windbreakers on bike commuters. One dark green suit on a brave young Swede probably rebelling against her parents. Everything else = the color of regret and granite countertops.
Stepford Wives-level creepy. Deviate in any way, and you are Not Approved™. Dogs are small, purebred and perfectly trained. Only a few breeds dare show their furry faces: terriers, poodles, pugs, pomeranians, dachshunds, corgis. Baby carriages? Same make, model, color (black, the hue beloved by all infants). Window plants? Same six varieties in all windows. Public gardens? Same two dozen non-native plants everywhere. Shops and apartments? Like IKEA exploded. Chachkis? Nonexistent. Clothing stores? A sea of beige, brown and boring. Thrift stores? Mostly expensive, mass-produced minimalist junk—or stained old clothes that look like they were worn to a US high school football game for spirit week.
Breakfast starts at 11. Shops open at 11. Life starts at 11. Plan accordingly.
Everything in Stockholm technically “closes at 10pm,” which really means “stop seating people at 8 and glare at you by 8:15.”
Do not expect cafes to have bathrooms. Do not expect malls to have free bathrooms. I had to pay $2 for a smart toilet to sing to me and a smartass sink to yell at me for not washing my hands for the recommended 30 seconds.
Also, everyone buys cut flowers. The places we stayed had no salt or olive oil to cook with, but plenty of empty vases. Priorities, Sweden.
On the plus side, I participated in a public art project! Which means I’m officially an international artist. PS: the app is glitchy, plan ahead if you want to get in on it, too.
Thursday: Flowers and Haters
Found a gorgeously curated flower shop. Then another. Then ANOTHER. These people have skills.
Visited The English Bookshop and a gorgeous, quiet art bookstore called Konst-ig. Perfect for sitting and looking at art… and also getting to chill without a shopkeeper following you around or giving you looks because you wore a shirt with colors included in the rainbow.
Met Jetson, a 1.5-year-old golden retriever—the only big dog in Stockholm and also the nicest fluff ever—chilling in a Söders Marley café. Highly recommend both the café and Jetson.
The number of salons and barber shops here is absurd. Which is weird because I only saw two people with visibly dyed hair in the entire city. Maybe hair length is strictly regulated. I wouldn’t be surprised.
Had Peruvian food—in Sweden! Decent. Did laundry with no soap! Slept in a twin bed, despite having left those behind in middle school. Used the equivalent of an American washcloth as a towel. The people here are so tall! But everything is SO small! Unsure if “minimalism” extends to hygiene, but we’re rolling with it.
Also, we got kicked out of a restaurant for… being too colorful. Pink sweaters are apparently offensive in Sweden. We waited in the foyer for ten minutes while servers drifted past like ghosts. When I asked to be seated, a server gave me the glare usually reserved for public urination and murder. She reluctantly sat us—then moved us again, and again, physically shoving our table farther from everyone else.
Tired and settling in for a long wait, we set a water bottle on the table. Immediately, three staff members appeared and surrounded us. Visibly scandalized, they ordered us to remove the offending bottle because “this is NOT how we do things in Sweden.”
When the server came by again, it wasn’t to take our order, but to move our table once more. And that’s when we finally took the hint. I tried to get the meal as takeout, and the manager came over three times to confirm we were still leaving.
We tried to eat outside on a bench using toothpicks from the bar next store… because the restaurant wouldn’t give us takeout cutlery. Food was fine, dignity slightly damaged, fashion sense questionable.
Friday: The Swish and Resting Bitch Face
You need the Swish app for literally everything—parking, tickets, public transport. They say you can use a credit card. They lie. Do not try to download it while off wifi and expecting to go anywhere for at least half an hour—it is a fickle technological beast. Peg and I had to take turns sitting in the car just to avoid getting a fine because the app kept kicking us out and there was no other way to pay!
Somewhere between an “elusive albino moose” sighting and eating Italian food in Örebro, I realized Google Maps outside the capital is just vibes and folklore. Plan your route BEFORE leaving. Search in English, search in Swedish—the map will mock you either way.
I wondered aloud what my ancestors were doing on this very day back in the day. Probably shoveling potatoes and dying of digestive issues. Some things never change.
Do NOT smile at random people or say hello. If you don’t have Resting Bitch Face, you don’t belong in this country.
Saturday: Moose, Microwaves and Mild Hypothermia
Outside of Stockholm is lovely. There’s a beautiful lake or scenic farmland every few miles. Oddly, all houses are painted the same color red and built in the same style. Stepford-y vibes continue even here.
Peg: “MY HIPS ARE STUCK IN THE FREEZER!”
Me: “OK, take off your pants.”
Peg: “It’s been so long since a woman tried to undress me in the forest.”
We learned that if you hit a moose, you’re legally entitled to eat it. (Still unverified. Don’t test it.)
Peg made tea in the microwave for the first time. Sweden changes a person.
We talked about ancient Siberian tattoos, listened to podcasts about barbarian conspiracies, and Peg was almost abducted while attempting to charm a faerie. Mistakes were made.
Peg: “I think your body just hates you because you planted non-native plants in a former life.” That tracks.
Then: crêpes labeled as “pancakes” for breakfast.
Sunday: The Cows Are Angry
We took miasma photos in Tiveden National Park, and it was gloriously beautiful.
Peg said the cows were angry. I didn’t ask why. But this one is giving major side eye.
Mollie: “What about Tuesdays? People don’t go to jail on Tuesdays, do they?”
Context withheld for mystery.
Peg succeeded at vacationing by sleeping in!
There is no peppermint tea offered at the cafés here.
The Swedes seem to have a candy problem. Their candy and baked goods aisles took up far more space than fresh produce. Not complaining.
Few restaurants serve fish. IT’S SWEDEN! Definitely complaining.
Monday: Boats, Meese and Lingonberries
“Lingonberry juice,” I say. “The Manischewitz of Sweden.”
Peg: “Moose don’t give a f*ck.”
“Actually,” I correct, “it’s Meese.”
<blank stare>
Tuesday Again: Pirates and Sweden’s Weirdest Attraction
Rowed ’round a lake in Dalsland while singing sea shanties.
Went into town and saw a cat on a leash named Treeco. We wondered if he was a national celebrity, being the oddest thing in the entire country. We met a highly sophisticated mob boss named Kärl who also happened to be a bird that strategized a coordinated attack with his cronies to steal Peg’s food. (Exhibit A: Frosting on his beak!)
Wednesday Again: So Many Roundabouts
Vegan fast food is on fleek here. Max Burgers FTW!
Doors open the wrong way here.
We saw tiny roe deer that I was convinced were definitely a Central American agouti on vacation.
Would I go back?
I have no must-do recommendations for Sweden because I wouldn’t recommend going. And there aren’t any unique foods unless you’re really into reindeer meat or salty licorice.
I may return one day, but only if I can avoid Stockholm and head straight into the countryside. Scenic red houses, infinite lakes, forests and tiny towns where people are allowed to eat at restaurants while wearing a pepto-chic top—that is the Sweden I adore.
Next time, I’m bringing my own towels, peppermint tea and a Swedish phrasebook to negotiate those pesky bathroom fees.
