Desperately Seeking Sweden

I like surprises. Maybe that explains why I have a guide book to Sweden that is nine years old. It adds to the adventure when you find the tourist information office is not where it used to be or the recommended restaurant has gone out of business. Such was the case with Örnsköldsvik. I call it adventure but others might say I’m just too tight to buy a new one and they’re probably right.

The book in question describes Örnsköldsvik as a “depressing experience.”  Like most Swedish towns and mid-sized cities it has the obligatory pedestrianised street called Storgatan and the equally predictable square known as Stortorget. No surprises there then.

But it was here I found great amusement in the seagull squarking wars until I was two metres away from being crapped on by the loudest of the flock. So I moved on to observe another duel between a group of youngsters using the horse statue as a climbing frame and their nemesis, a break-dancing crew who won over the locals with help from Ice T and Public Enemy. 

Övik, as most people call it, is the kind of place that raises a snigger among city-slicking Swedes who wouldn’t give it the time of day. Admittedly, 24 hours is probably all you need here and you don’t feel overwhelmed with things to see.

I was a little disappointed that the official Star Wars exhibition, which had previously toured Madrid, London, Brussels and then surprisingly chose Övik as its Scandinavian destination, had moved on. Chewbacca’s mask has also paid this place a visit so I was in good company.

They're not going to get an ice cream either

However, with it’s pretty harbour, it served as a reminder of the happy seaside trips from my youth, only without the fragrant smell of fish and chips. From the outside, my hotel was also a throwback to the 70s but, to my surprise, behind the ominous exterior hid a lovely welcome and comfy stay.

Back to the childhood memories and a waterside stroll with an ice cream was a must. Unfortunately, the kiosk had suffered a power cut and the owners were in panic mode dealing with melting lollies and loss of trade as the temperature reached 25 degrees.

The outside water park, however, was cashing in on the weather and I decided to cool off in the company of around 500 children and only one swirly slide. I was eager to notch as many goes as possible and was about to make double figures when I was cautioned by a teenager supervisor for pushing in. I considered offering a cash advance in exchange for access to the VIP queue but a group of eight-year olds appreciated my enthusiasm and let me go before them.  

I spotted a few more adventurous types taking to the ski-jumping slope, which I never knew was a summer activity. Winter sport is what Örnsköldsvik is probably most famous for, having bred some of Sweden’s most notable ice hockey stars.

Now, I don’t know very much about ice hockey but I do know a lot about shoes. And my sandal fetish will come as no surprise if you have read my previous post. So on a similar theme, I hear that NHL legend and Örnsköldsvik’s most famous son, Peter Forsberg, is to blame for the most heinous crime against footwear, having returned to Sweden from Canada, probably, wearing those ridiculous plastic summer clogs and making them fashionable. In Övik anyway.

Unsurprisingly, I didn't buy a pair of these.

They’re a fairly common sight; I spotted one family of seven decked out in a whole rainbow of colours with granddad opting for yellow. This is the kind of thing any good guide book should warn you about. 

Speaking of which, my batttered old paperback advised me against visiting Skellefteå on account of the honesty of its marketing brochure stating: ”Don’t go to Skellefteå because it seems remarkable – it isn’t.” That was nearly a decade ago so it may well have reversed it’s unremarkable brand by now. On this trip I’ll never know. But I can say that Örnsköldsvik, in my book, was not so much a depressing experience. Rather more so a pleasant surprise.   

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