Scandinavians: Blowing Kisses

Some say Scandinavians—people from Sweden, Norway, Finland are humorless. I haven’t found that to be the case. Except—

When I stayed at the huts on the Kungsleden. The southern terminus of the trail is in Hemavan, about a 12 hour train/bus trip north of Stockholm near the Arctic Circle. So yeah, up there. The stereotype of the frozen stolid Swede didn’t exactly align. There was a lot of animated conversation, joking around, and playfulness with the various groups and visitors. Just not with me. I couldn’t figure it out. So I asked my recent Tiny House guest her opinion.

You see, she’s originally from Norway. I’ve met her family. They’re all warm and friendly; they speak English and love to converse.

Why the stand-offness in the huts with me? Was it because I’m an American and presumably want to take over Greenland?

She acknowledged the stereotype, saying that yes, the art of small talk isn’t part of the culture.

Okay? But, then I remembered.

There was a couple whose itinerary paralleled mine. We were both walking the same distance every day and meeting up each night at the huts. I tried to engage them in conversation. Name, profession, where do you live? They’d answer, but not much more. Still, I considered them friendly, just not open and inquisitive about me and my trip. On the second to last day, I’d taken a fall and when I told them that night, they seemed concerned and next morning asked how my leg was doing. Fine, fine.

We even finished together at Ammarnäs. They went off for coffee and a sandwich at a small café while I hiked over to a grocery store and had tea out of my flask at a picnic table while awaiting the bus. We rode that bus to Sorsele. Now could I say the name of all these places properly, no, but we figured it out. In Sorsele, we waited for the next bus, where they would disembark in  Lycksele, while I would continue on to Östersund to catch the night train.

And, this is what was so fantastic: At the stop by the Hotel Lappland in Lycksele, they got off and I waved goodbye to them from my window seat. They vigorously waved back. The end of a great journey. A once-in-a-lifetime trip. You could tell they were glad it was over and everything had worked out and they had beautiful memories. A kind of release. I decided to blow them kisses—and they returned them blowing kisses back.

A-ha, I thought, I broke them. That expressionless demeanor, polite but withholding had come down. We were strangers who had shared a strange and awesome experience that not too many others can say they’d done. We had done it together* (kind of) and now knew the thrill that only those who had been there and done that could ever understand. We shared a bond, a connection, and now we were blowing kisses beside the bus to one another.