| Scandinavia 6.05 | ||
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Simon and I took a Scandinavian road trip across Sweden and Norway.
We started off south of Stockholm, then went further south to Älmhult,
then up to Gothenburg, further north into Norway to Oslo, Lillehammer
and Trondheim, then across to Røros, back onto Dalarna in
Sweden, then Uppsala, then home. It was a long way. Here are some
things we learned:
Two reasons When I was a kid my parents were friendly with a family called The Freijs: Sören, Ingeborg, Martin and Ann-Christin. We spent a lot of time at their house and I have memory flashes of the Swedish culture they celebrated which zips from the clothes they wore, the clogs on their feet, to the particular orange of Sören's Volvo, to the yogurt they ate on their cereal, and the Santa Lucia festival they observed near xmas. The colours and smells stay with me, 1970s Scandinavian design is part of my childhood and I crave it. Being in Scandinavia makes me feel close to...something. The second reason I love Norway and Sweden is Alf Prøysen. He wrote the Mrs Pepperpot stories that I used to love so much. In Norway she's known as Mrs Teaspoon. I'd forgotten his name, but then we stopped off at a museum dedicated to him and I remembered and the puzzle of why I was here started to unravel. He was a great, versatile and accomplished writer who came from humble beginnings. He was gentle. He made some records too, and broadcast stories and songs on the radio. He was a socialist. His family were very poor, we were told, but they loved literature and they loved each other and that's what enabled him to transcend his poverty. At this point I got choked up again. Ikea The company has its corporate headquarters in the sleepy town of Älmhult. It's also the location of the very first Ikea, which we visited, and which is exactly the same as every other Ikea on earth. We heard that there was an Ikea Museum, there is, but it's only open to selected employees. This makes me wonder: what has Ikea got to hide? Älmhult is small and bourgie and is completely disconnected from the world. The decisions made in these buildings create riots in North London, a stampede that kills someone in Saudi Arabia, swearing an arguments as people the world over try and put their damn furniture together. Ikea is such a fluffy company, but globalisation still sucks. Göteborg You say "yu-te-bor," I think. The E6 This is a road that stretches from the south of Sweden to the Norwegian/Russian border in the far north. It is a mighty road. I don't know how long it is, over a couple of thousand miles at least. It's not the longest road in the world, but it's pretty long, and it winds around mountains and down through valleys. I drove at least 500 miles along it. B told us that there is a cheesy old song about a trucker trying to get to Bodø in time to catch his lady, he's driving up the E6 with no time to spare, if he slows down "she'll be in someone else's arms." Then comes the punchline: he's driving to the hospital to visit his newborn daughter. Aaah, ain't that sweet? The Troll In Lillehammer, at the Norwegian Automobile and Vehicles Museum, we finally get to see The Troll. Although there were a couple of one-off models of car, The Troll was the only attempt to develop a Norwegian automobile. Unlike Volvo it failed and now there are only a few left in the world. Super-cute, The Troll is now a rare and dusty relic. Andy The day before we left we heard that our friend Andy had been hurt in an accident. Gradually the realisation sunk in that his injury was serious and that he might die. And then he did die. I was sitting looking at my friend's computer whilst she cooked us dinner in the golden light of the evening. I read the news, that he had gone, and then I told Simon. There was no space for grief in this place, with my friends, which is no criticism, we were just far away from the epicentre of sadness with no firm place on which to pin our sorrow. Being on holiday and knowing that one of our friends had died was a strange feeling. We were sad and happy, all mixed up together. It was useful, being away and feeling these feelings, I didn't feel sucked into the rottenness of it all, I was apart, I had some perspective. When you're on the side of a mountain, you start to get a sense of how big the world is, as you do when you look out of a plane window at the ground far below. I began to think of Andy's death as being a small part of something much bigger, life, humanity, and that was a comfort. Seeing the world spinning on, being with people far away - and so alive - reminded me that life goes on, even in the face of awesome tragedies. I felt Andy, and everyone, in the light, the trees, the mountains around me, like a gift from the land. The hut B's husband's grandparents built the hut on a mountainside back in the early 1970s. It's made of wood and filled with so much eye candy, like a time capsule from the early days, weaving projects by T's grandmother, a stove embossed with elk, a rocking chair, the big kettle for melting snow, the old jacket hanging up on the peg. There's electricity but no water (the toilet is a hole in an outhouse), yet it's still very comfortable. It's hard to know what to say about the hut. Staying in it was pure joy, such a privilege. It's the most beautiful and peaceful place on earth. Being in nature Simon and I are urban people. Nature freaks us out. We don't know how to be in nature, but every time we come to Norway we try a little bit harder, and it's always rewarding. B is at home in the wilderness, she'll ski across country in the snow and ice, she goes orienteering and can find her way about in the middle of nowhere, she can kill a fish with her bare hands, she thinks nothing of scrambling down a slope to get to the water. B tells me incredible stories of seeing the Northern Lights, or of being surrounded by silvery fish as she swims in the fjord. I am awed by my friend's courage and her capacity for experiencing beauty. She took us to a lake on a mountain plateau, 900 metres into the sky, Reinsvann (Reindeer's water). She dared me to swim in the lake, so I did. I took off my clothes and teetered over the rocks and splashed around in the water, which was so cold it stung my arms. She told T and later he sent a text calling me a "true Norwegian Viking," which got me crying with happiness and pride. Trondheim The weather is grim but the light and the cloudscapes intoxicate us. It never really gets dark (at least two Scandinavian art museums we visit have rooms dedicated to painted depictions of Nordic light). We are so far north, I've been further north, but this is plenty north too. I love the north. Trondheim has a bike lift, but alas no bikes for us to practise with. It's a beautiful city, with a fjord, a port and a river with mysterious currents. One night we walk home and stop to watch an otter on the quayside eating a big flapping fish it has just caught. Røros church The 17th century copper mining town has been preserved and is a startling place to visit. The slag heaps on the edge of the old town have houses built into their base. Has no one heard of Aberfan here? It's the church that gets me. If anything is a monument to the evils of christianity, then this is it. Built by the owner of the local copper industry, who made so much money that he could have built several more of these opulent churches every year, one wonders how it must have felt to attend one of the services. Imagine yourself worked so hard that you die in your thirties, you live in a shack underneath a slag heap and Sunday morning is your only free time. You're not allowed to sit with the rich folks in church, they have their own curtained off spaces, so you sit in a gallery, hidden away, a place with a separate entrance. Your boss owns the church. He also owns the two militia whose flags fly prominently. You fear god, you work for your boss and you do what you're told. The dancing and the music Coincidentally, there was a folk music and dancing festival being held in Røros. In the evenings, the musicians took over the pub and the café in town. We sat in a packed room and listened to some fiddle players. Gradually, people started to dance. The man and the woman could not have been older than 20. She wore a baseball cap with her ponytail pulled through the back of it, and beaten-up trainers and ripped jeans. They put their arms around each other in a stylised hug and twirled around the tiny dancefloor. Their faces were impassive whilst their feet stepped and moved assuredly and quickly. Maybe they were part of some revivalist thing, but they looked as though they had been doing these dances forever, as though the moves and the music were in their blood. I felt overwhelmed with emotion watching them, they were so beautiful I couldn't breathe, and I had to wipe away tears surreptitiously. Hagström Albin Hagström made accordians and guitars. Simon has two Hagströms. In Älvdalen there's a museum dedicated to geological specimens which also has a section devoted to Hagström. This is one of the main reasons that we decided to come to Sweden in the first place. I drove 200 miles from Røros to Älvdalen in order for us to visit the museum. It was closed. Midsummer The real reason we are here: to witness a Swedish midsummer. When I went to Malmö a few years ago I picked up a black and white print of Anders Zorn's Midsommerdans painting in a charity shop. The painting and the idea of midsummer has haunted me ever since. On Midsummer eve we go to three different celebrations arund Mora in Dalarna, Zorn's home, all of which involve an incredibly phallic raising of the maypole. Sweaty men heave the pole up with special implements, there's a large cheer when it is finally erect, a special "Hurrah!" after which children and pregnant ladies dance around it. Am I in a production of The Wicker Man? Sure feels like it. |
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