Scandinavia: Overview

Gross bathrooms. Blood on the floor. These glaring imperfections at the arrivals gate in Copenhagen’s airport gave me the hope that I would be able to write a blog post about how Scandinavia does not actually conform to the squeaky clean image it has earned itself abroad. “Leave your stereotypes at the door!” I was going to write, “You can pick them up later at the Little Mermaid statue.”

But no. Scandinavia is basically just as organized, efficient, and “figured-out” as one would expect.

My guidebook states that Scandinavians are “confident, happy, healthy, and tall.”*  I can see it. “Confident” probably because they never have to worry about things like health insurance or tuition payments. And they know that even if life deals them a blow like job loss or even, say, old age, they’ll be taken care of. But that’s just a guess.

When I was there, the happiness seemed mostly due to heavy vitamin D infusion from the sun. Even in early May, the sun rose a little after 4am and set just before 10pm. Its rays were intense: I came back with a nice tan (though only on my face, neck, and hands, because I still had to wear my coat most of the time). It wasn’t uncommon to see people doing nothing, just facing the sun with their eyes closed. Transcending.

Healthy, for sure. Everyone rode bikes, particularly in Copenhagen, where virtually every street has a bike lane, complete with walk lights so that tourists don’t step out into two-wheel traffic. Joggers had invaded Stockholm and Oslo, serious joggers (I’m guessing by their serious jogging apparel) attracted to these cities’ many lovely parks and waterside running paths. Add the omnipresence of all things organic and you start to realize why everyone has such great skin.

Tall. And blonde. And gorgeous. In Stockholm, this constitutes “average.” (Note to gentlemen: you can try, but you’ll be competing with equally tall, blonde, and gorgeous Swedish men . . .) It just seems to be one of those stereotypes that springs from reality, like loud Americans or the French on strike.

In fact, after two weeks of Scandinavian efficiency and ease, I was dismayed today to have to dive back into the obstacle course of French bureaucracy in preparation for moving out. When I was in Copenhagen, I once wondered, why don’t I just move to Denmark, where everything is so healthy and organized?

Then the clouds rolled in on a bitter Northern wind, and I thought: oh, that’s right. So I ducked into the metro and bought my $8 ticket . . . and that’s the other reason.

*Steves, Rick. Rick Steves’ Scandinavia.