What better place than Sweden to check on the following impressions I had about Scandinavia:
1. all women there look like Ingrid Bergman, Britt Ekland, or thereabouts.
2. it is way too expensive,
3. everyone is about 6'5" (including the aforementioned stunning women).
A 10-day visit to the country, interspersed with a quick nip to Norway's third largest town along a fjord, dispelled...
What better place than Sweden to check on the following impressions I had about Scandinavia:
1. all women there look like Ingrid Bergman, Britt Ekland, or thereabouts.
2. it is way too expensive,
3. everyone is about 6'5" (including the aforementioned stunning women).
A 10-day visit to the country, interspersed with a quick nip to Norway's third largest town along a fjord, dispelled any doubts I might have had about Swedish beauty (of the country-side and of the non-feathered avian variety), costs, and the height of its Viking residents.
But first things first. There was total chaos at Glasgow airport (what else does one expect from a low cost airline?) - there seemed to be only one poor attendant who was doing everything - coordinating the queues, checking boarding passes and passports, making sure people were at the right gate. Either because of his inefficiency or due to the fact that he was overworked, the following erroneous announcement was made - "Last and final call for passengers to Stockholm. The flight is boarded and ready to leave. Passengers for this flight are requested to make their way immediately to the boarding gate else their luggage will be offloaded and they will not be allowed to enter the plane." This was despite the fact that not a single passenger had, as yet, boarded the flight. One dishevelled looking young woman, with a baby in tow, came sprinting down and ran upto the head of the queue shouting loudly "I am for the flight to Stockholm, I'll miss it". The attendant informed her that the flight had not even started boarding.
"But the announcement?" said the young woman, catching her breath.
"Oh that? That was a mistake sorry"
At this poing the entire queue started laughing and the woman sheepishly made her way back to the end of the queue.
The plane, which finally and surprisingly did manage to take off on time, was full of silent and polite Swedes and loud and raucous Scots. There was one particular group (Scottish naturally) which figured that it was a good idea to block the aisle and tell each other jokes. As we passed over the North Sea towards Scandinavia, their jokes and laughter became louder and progressively infectious - at one point entire plane seemed to be giggling with them even though we could barely hear, or understand, their jokes. As we approached Stockholm, the Swedish landscape was a veritable mix of green (firs and spruces), maroon (all the houses were painted in that colour) and blue (lots and lots of water bodies). A Smörgasbord of colours, as they would say in this part of the world. As the plane touched down, one of the laughing Scotswomen was so taken back (someone perhaps forget to tell her that planes that take-off also land) that she gave out a blood-curdling scream that sent the entire plane (yet again) into fits of laughter.
The immigration officer was a woman (a change from the dour man I encountered in Berlin). But she was more Rosie'O'Donnell than Greta Garbo. Beneath her smile, I could discern a hint of suspicion in her eyes as she fingered my passport.
"Why are you visiting Sweden?"
"Tourism," was my clever reply.
"Hmmm," she said as she turned over the pages of my passport and looked at my not-too-complimentary photograph, "Where are you going to stay?"
"In Stockholm and then in Åre," was my well-rehearsed reply.
She raised her eyebrow and asked me, "Where?"
"Åre," I repeated, with a what-I-thought-was-clever emphasis on the 'A'
She smiled and said, "It is not AAre but is pronounced O-re." She stamped the passport and while passing it to me said, "Have a nice stay in Sweden".
So much for my pronounciation skills.
The next morning as I stood in the check-in line for the plane to Östersund (from where I drove to Åre), I asked the lady at the counter, "Is the flight on time?" She tried very hard to conceal the hurt in her voice when she replied "But, it is always on time." As I left the counter with that lesson in Scandinavian punctuality, I noticed that there was a Bengali family in the queue behind me (God bless the omni-present Bengali tourist). The one-hour flight to Östersund was extremely quiet and uneventful compared to my Scot-laden flight from Glasgow to Stockholm - the quiet, efficient (and punctual, I might add) Swedes were reading their newspapers and books in extreme silence. Like clockwork, I reached Östersund (Northwest of Stockholm) and then an hour-long drive brought me to Åre, which is apparently Sweden's most popular ski resort (something that I couldn't confirm at this time of the year). The first thing I did after checking into my hotel was to walk over to the Tourist Information Bureau to get a low-down on what the area had to offer in the off-season. The gentleman there, who was a spitting image of the 5-time wimbledon champion in the late 1970s, efficiently produced a couple of maps and pointed out the beauty spots (viz. lakes, rivers, and waterfalls that were available for the traveller to explore). Among the highlights of the area are a couple of waterfalls especially Tännforsen and Handol. The former had a 37-foot drop which didn't sound too intimidating when I read about it in the brochure but from up close it was scary - the water gushing with amazing intensity.
One evening, as I looked towards the Åresjön lake in a fit of philosophical self-indulgence, I couldn't but help notice, apart from the beauty that is, that the water was perfectly still. So still that I couldn't make out where the dense forests on the other side of the lake ended and where their reflection in the crystal-clear pristing waters started. I almost felt like reaching out (I couldn't) and spoiling the picture-perfect stillness.
The area around Åre is also littered with 'Karolinermonuments' - I thought they were in memory of some hot Swede blonde called Carol. The name, sadly, was derived from the appellation of the 18th century Swedish King Carl XII who decided that it would be a good idea to invade Norway and then move his armies across the Norwegian sea to Scotland before taking on the might of the English (in a bid to increase the size of his empire). He took around 10,000 soldiers and 7,000 horses across the Swedish countryside towards Trondheim in Norway. From there they had to beat a retreat during which a majority of the soldiers died (since they had prepared to move on and not turn back). The Karoliner monuments were erected at locations where the soldiers perished. One such place was Handol which also has a tiny Lapp church. I was told that the church is locked but a key could be found on the wall (and not, thankfully, under the doormat) and that could I "please replace it after seeing the church". The church (have never been able to figure out the difference between a chapel, cathedral, and church) was an extremely cute affair - surrounded by snowclad mountains, grassy hills, and a rather picturesque cemetery. The nearby waterfalls had a little footbridge over them. The bridge seemed secure enough but the water below was moving with such rapidity that my feet did quiver a few times in anticipation of the bridge giving way under my weight. The fact that this post has reached you is proof of that eventuality not having ocurred.
One day, drove to Trondheim, which is around 160 kms from Åre. Trondheim is the 3rd largest town in Norway (after Oslo and Bergen). It is also the last major town before the wilderness of the north (towards the Arctic circle) starts. The sun was out that day and the Trondheim-ites (I wonder if that is what they are called) were out in full force to take in as much as Vitamin D as possible. A number of cafes and restaurants dot the river Nidelva. Trondheim sits on the Trondheimfjord (a Fjord is the Norwegian equivalent of 'backwaters', and there are plenty of them). The main attraction in this town is the Nidaros Domkirke ('Nidaros' is Trondheim's former name) which is dedicated to the 10th century King Olav. The church, made of soapstone (!!!) was built in the 11th century and has a number of interesting Gargoyles. Unlike the stunning-but-overcrowded churches of Italy, this one was relatively tourist-free (apart from yours-truly)
Afterwards, had a pleasant-though-uneventful walk around this town with its pretty mix of beautiful coloured houses (especially along the river-side) and not-too-tall Norwegians strutting around in their finest summer clothes (remember, it was 13 degrees centigrade and the sun was shining in all its un-Scottish glory). A lunch, a drink, and a delightfully tasty ice-cream set me back by roughly the same amount as it would have in the UK (the Norwegian currency is also Kroner - pronounced 'Crown' - which is different from the Swedish counterpart and I was able to spend an entire day in Norway without using any local currency. God Bless cards).
Followed that up with a drive to the North of Trondheim to see what the fuss about fjords was all about. The road snakes and tunnels its way through stunningly beautiful countryside with snow-clad mountains in the background. It was fun to come in and out of tunnels (one of them rather long - about 4 kms - appropriately called Hellstunnel) as the road ran along Trondheimsfjord. Summer was in full swing in Norway (as countrysidealong Trondheimsfjord which tunnels its way along stunningly beautiful country-side. Summer was in full swing in Norway (as evidenced by beautiful yellow flowers dotting the entire landscape) which was in contrast to Sweden where it is still spring and temperatures haven't still gone over 15 degrees.
One the way back, stopped at a village called Ånna which was on the shores of a lake called Ånnsjon. There I entered a coffee shop run by a woman called Ånna who had given her establishment the devastatingly original name of 'Ånna's Cafe'. I wanted to try a particular sweet that looked rather inviting - Ånna (we weren't on first name basis, I heard someone using it so I'm telling you) told me that it had liqueur in its centre and before I could protest she continued, "Its ok to drive after having it". In a bid to conceal the fact that I wasn't too impressed with its taste I cleverly emitted a few convincing-sounding 'Wow' and 'This is tasty'. To further drive home the false fact that this sweet had created an impression on my taste buds, I politely asked her what it was called. She told me its Swedish name which made no sense to me. Then she said, 'It has another name' and then turned to a grumpy looking aunt who had, I am sure, seen through me attempts to pretend that I liked it, and asked for an english translation which was 'Vacuum cleaner.' When I asked her 'why?' she again turned to her aunt and following a quickfire conversation in Swedish, she turned to me, blushed, and said 'I can't explain'
So if you ever hear about an Indian in Sweden asking about vacuum cleaners, you know why.
PS: I also tried to play scrabble with Swedish alphabets - the distribution of letters and points was totally different as was the confusion created by the extra letters Ö and Å (which btw, have been a big pain to type out!)
PPS: I have discovered the joys of Light Swedish Beer 'Pripps Pla' and 'Spendrups' whose alcoholic content in the range of 2-2.2% ("Alcoholic?" some would ask) is what my old and overburdened liver can handle without sending an ache to the head.
(May, 08)
