Well before Hunger Games, my impressions as a young kid in southern Sweden, the Capitol, i.e. Stockholm, carried with it a certain whiff of superficial and subjectively undeserved superiority that I could never quite stomach. That your place of residence could somehow define who you were and more importantly implicitly rank your worth as a person higher than others was the basis for my scoffing whenever the prospect of visiting Stockholm came up in conversation. After all, why bother with the uppity zero-eights…

 

 

However, as I completely lack defences against my mother-in-law’s wishes, my attempts to eschew adding Stockholm to the itinerary through some grumblings to the effect of “it’s really expensive…” were summarily shut down. To add insult to injury, the Swedish faction of the family to which I belong, sprung into action and had us booked on both the train and a middle-of-the-road hotel at a merciful distance from ‘gamla stan’, i.e. the old town, filled to the gunwales with merchants hawking knick-knack, ‘fika’-paraphernalia and “viking helmets” with foam horns. This was happening. Oh joy…

In actuality, it turns out that my impressions of Stockholm and its inhabitants in 1983 didn’t exactly reflect my experience this time around. Stockholm is nothing short of a stunningly beautiful city. Just walking around, which we did to an almost Olympic degree (even though there’s nothing wrong with the transit system), you’re rewarded with views of architecture, greenery and waterways in a near-melodic harmony. Coming from a grouchy southern bumpkin, that means something.

It’s not just about walking around though. The Glorious Vasa museum is a treat for both young and old to see how spectacularly wrong unbridled hubris can actually go while at the same time marvel at the engineering feat to not only get the vessel up after 300+ years on the bottom but how they’re able to preserve her out in our atmosphere. Also, if you’re in a group of, ideally not so shy, people that have a thing for 70s Swedish pop, the ABBA museum is a must. I admit, I was 50/50 on the idea of going, but as museums go, you can have as much fun as you’ll let yourself have.

As expensive as most things are in Stockholm (and they are; we walked out of a restaurant whose cheapest bottle of Rose was 2,200 SEK or some 200+ EUR), there are the odd gems that are not out to rob you. On our last day, and it was unfortunate that my in-laws had left for home already, we discovered the Swedish Army museum. This humdinger of a museum is free of charge to enter and an absolute treasure trove of historical information detailing the events that shaped all of Scandinavia as we know it today. I was too young to absorb this when teachers attempted to impart this knowledge in school, so I really appreciated getting a second chance.

Culture and history is not confined to museums however. Along parts of Drottninggatan (i.e. Queen’s Street), some city councillor felt it appropriate to approve embossing literary quotes from a famous Swedish author, August Strindberg into the asphalt of the street itself. One has to wonder however, how they went about selecting exactly which qoutes should be represented by large-ish, gleaming stainless steel letters and which ones they considered and discarded. I mention this because the quotes they did decide on are generally paranoid and rabidly misogynistic ramblings presumably authored while the man was hopped up on Absinth.

 

All in all, Stockholm vastly exceeded my expectations and I can only say I’m sorry I didn’t go back sooner to see it for what it is, which is a true gem of the north and a worthwhile consideration for anyone thinking about visiting Scandinavia.