Randi Kreiss

In Sweden, the land of blue eyes and blond hair

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Chances are it’s too late for me to be a Swede. And that’s a pity, because from what I’m seeing, Sweden is a nearly perfect place to live.

Once again, the Herald has sent its team of foreign correspondents (me) with a generous budget (their good wishes) to explore the world (northern Europe) and bring back news and views from over here.

The first stop is Stockholm. We arrived here by connecting through London, which you must avoid at any cost if you travel. The tension and madness and hyper-vigilance at Heathrow are harrowing. And the taxes added to your ticket just to pass through are stiff.

It conjures images of the fall of Rome when one sees the chaos, with shoes flying and people stripping and everyone having to stuff all bottles of liquid and cream into quart-sized plastic bags. The money and people power that we throw at security is so distressing. And yet, what choice do we have if we want to see the world?

The good news is that we landed in Stockholm for three days. More good news: Compared with our last trip, which included India, we didn’t have to pack bug spray or Imodium or malaria pills. We can drink the water and eat the cold salads.

The trade-off is that it’s not quite as exciting. The vibe is quiet. The colors are muted. The people are staid and soft-spoken. There isn’t a cobra-in-a-basket in sight.

And it feels safe.

Still, Sweden apparently isn’t immune to terrorist threats. The newspaper Expressen reported in April that the country’s security service received information from its Iraqi colleagues about an imminent terror threat. Seven or eight Islamic State terrorists had arrived in Sweden to carry out attacks in Stockholm, Expressen sources claimed.

I have to say I feel safer than I did in Times Square last week, but that may be illusory.

When we pulled up to our hotel, my husband almost bailed. We’re staying in a ridiculously long two-story building erected in the 1600s. It looks like every orphanage in every scary children’s story. During the Black Plague it housed dying people, and later served as a hospice and then as a military installation. It sits on an island in the Stockholm archipelago. I booked the place so long ago that I didn’t remember why I chose it. It’s an understatement to say that the drab, forbidding exterior put us off.

Once inside, however, we were both relieved and enchanted. It isn’t just updated; it is an immaculate interior of minimalist design. Only elemental renditions of art and lighting in black and white decorate the gray halls and rooms. The designer kept some original exposed stone and flooring. Even the functionality is ultra-modern. In a corner of the bathroom the water showers down from the ceiling just where you’re standing.

The food was also off the charts — though for us, not in a good way. We tried the hotel restaurant and actually could not find anything to eat. The dishes were lost in poor translations, and we wound up with various kinds of herring served up with strange sauces.

The most striking first impression of Sweden, to me, is the beauty of the people. Aside from seeming so very normal and considerate, they are beautiful in a very white, blue-eyed, Nordic sort of way, the men angular and tall, the women crowned with cascades of blond hair. Thus my desire to convert.

Today the desk clerk advised us to avoid Gamla Stan, which he said they make fun of as “Tourist Island.” Naturally, we headed there first. We are tourists, and we want to see everything, even the made-for-Americans stuff. Along the way we took in the landscape of storied palaces and government buildings and waterways winding around the city’s islands. Much of Stockholm looks like the setting of fairy tales, with gothic architecture and facades of stone and brick, built to withstand the severe winters.

I was actually here once before, but not really. Thirty-five years ago we landed in Sweden on our way to Norway. We were so pathetically jet-lagged that we fell asleep as soon as we got to our hotel and slept for 18 hours, missing Stockholm entirely.

But we were young then, and figured that if we were lucky, we would pass this way again. And so, we are lucky. But time is relative, and moves faster as you get older. Last night we set the alarm. We don’t want to miss a thing.

Copyright © 2016 Randi Kreiss. Randi can be reached at randik3@aol.com.