Five things I hate about Swedes – explained

As he passes the 18 month mark of his new life in Sweden's far north, ex-Londoner Paul Connolly takes a moment to reflect on the things that most annoy him about Swedes.

Five things I hate about Swedes - explained
The face you make when your neighbour came in to your wife breastfeeding again. Photo: Fredrik Sandberg/TT

I’ve lived in northern Sweden for 18 months now. All my friends and family are understandably thoroughly bored of my extolling the virtues of living up here. I do tend to go on about it. And while it’s true I am very happy living here, I wonder if sometimes I overcompensate – most people seem to have such a wrong-headed perception of northern Sweden, I often fall into the trap of exaggerating its charms in order to combat their cynicism.

But there are things that really irritate me about living here. Some issues are almost certainly experienced by every ex-pat who lives in Sweden but some are peculiar to living up north

1. “Don't hang up!”

If you’re going to cold-call me to sell me car insurance/children’s books/rat poison please have the courtesy to NOT hang up when you hear an English accent. And if you ARE going to hang up then have the decency to not call again an hour later and hang up again.

You know, make a note on my file. “Angry English person, swears a lot, do not call again.” Also, a few weeks ago I called the organiser of a local twins’ group to find out when the next gathering was. She waited until I'd finished asking her Swedish if she spoke English and then hung up. Not a ‘nej’, nothing. She just hung up. I’ve since learnt that she works for a church.

Don't do it! Photo: Fredrik Sandberg/TT

2. “Sweden is NOT the centre of the universe!”

I am English. At school we were taught French, German and Spanish. I can converse in French because I spent four years studying the language. I can understand some German and Spanish. I am not totally language-phobic.

SEE ALSO: Swedes' ten most common mistakes when speaking English

We have acquaintances who have never even been to Stockholm, never mind left Sweden. They take ALL their holidays in Sweden. They are getting very grumpy that we are not yet fluent in Swedish. The last time they harrumphed at us for our basic Swedish, we snapped. “You learn English throughout your time at school,” growled my girlfriend, Donna, “and most of your TV channels have lots of English-speaking programming – learning English for you guys is relatively easy. You are steeped in the language from an early age. In England, no schools offer Swedish as an option. Also, we are busy with 4-month-old twins and are doing our best from a standing start.”

“Oh!” exclaimed one of our acquaintances, with a quizzical look on her face. We thought she had finally understood and would cut us some slack. “You really don’t learn Swedish at school in England? Why not?!”

Cue the sound of two foreheads hitting the table.

There are no other nations. Photo: Christine Olsson/SCANPIX/TT

3. “Privacy, please!”

I love our neighbours, truly I do. They are some of the kindest, most good-natured, most helpful people we have ever had the pleasure of knowing. The last few months, with newborn twins, have been tough. But without the kindness of our neighbours they would have been a lot tougher. I just wish our neighbours wouldn't walk in to our house whenever they feel like it.

My girlfriend has been confronted, mid-breastfeed, by two neighbours we don’t even know that well who were keen to see our new daughters. Donna was in the nursery at the time. Upstairs. They had just let themselves in and stomped up the stairs to see who was around. We now lock our front door but not because of people wishing us ill, as was the case in London – we lock our door to keep out friendly people. Hmm, now I think about it, this could also be an entry in five things I love about Swedes…

SEE ALSO: In Pictures: Ten best things about Sweden

Please, at least have the decency to knock. Photo: Fredrik Sandberg/TT

4. “Bring a bottle!”

When you come to my house intending to drink two litres of wine, please do not think a box of poxy chocolates will suffice as a gift. Especially when it’s really obvious that you’ve had the box in the back of a cupboard for a couple of years. If you’re going to drink wine, bring a bottle of wine with you. If you want beer, bring beer. We’ve had one dinner party guest (gift – a bunch of petrol station flowers) who complained that we didn’t have the right brand of beer.

One English friend has told me that the local Swedes assume all the English are rich and can afford loads of alcohol. These are the same Swedes who earn around 450 kronor ($50) an hour and think I’m tight because I buy my toilet roll in bulk.

See how disappointed he looks when you drink all his wine? Photo: Faramarz Gosheh/

5. “Would a 'thank you' kill you?”

If I open a door for you, please say “tack.” Don’t just stare through me as if you’re Elton John and I’m your flunky. The same goes if I let you out at a road junction when I’m driving. Say “tack,” or raise a hand in acknowledgement – it’s really not going to cost you anything. Also, if I call or email you, please have the good manners to respond, even if the answer is something I don’t want to hear. Don’t just ignore me.

Those are my main irritants. Other, lesser, irritants written down on my notepad are:

“Swedish reserve – for heaven’s sake, show some passion. Are you all Vulcans?”

“Trot racing – speedway for horses. Pointless.”

“Shop hours – how can you run a hair salon and not open on Saturdays?”

And that’s it. You know, if that’s all I have to moan about after 18 months of living here, I’m really not doing too badly.

An accurate depiction of the emotions that come up when people don't say “Thank you”. Photo: Jessica Gow/TT

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Paul Connolly

Read more from Paul here, including his Striking a Chord music column

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‘Sweden ticks all the boxes – except for one’

Ex-Londoner Paul Connolly loves living in northern Sweden. Really, he does. If only the local delicacies didn't taste of asbestos and insulation – and that's BEFORE you even get to the fermented herring.

'Sweden ticks all the boxes – except for one'
Sweden, you're letting yourself down, writes Paul Connolly. Photo: Kr-val/Wikimedia Commons & Jurek Holzer/SvD/TT & Restaurang Tre Kronor

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We've recently had some correspondence with Migrationsverket over our Swedish citizenship application. It's not gone particularly well.

Indeed, so badly has it gone, that yesterday I started to worry that we might have to move back to my place of birth, Blighted Blighty, the self-harming, laughing stock of the civilized world.

This induced real, gut-wrenching panic. I really don't want to go back to the UK. I've made this plain in other columns.

I love northern Sweden, truly I do. I love our house overlooking a lake; I love the friendly people; I love the work-life balance; I love the gender equality; I love the community spirit.

Why would I want to return to a country incapacitated by a spasm of senseless nostalgia and anti-modernity, and presided over by a political class that has abdicated responsibility and handed over the running of the country to the old, the dim-witted and the barbaric?

I want to live in a civilized country, a forward-looking country. And Sweden ticks all the boxes – except for one. And where does it let itself down? Its food culture.

Does any country that not only allows, but celebrates the existence of kebab pizza, deserve to be called civilized? I'd imagine not many Italians would think so.

You see, northern Swedish food is lousy. There's no getting away from it. I try to be positive about everything here but the cuisine up here is undeniably abominable. 


There are people who rave about Flying Jacob, a recipe devised by an air freight worker in the 1970s, a dish with chicken, peanuts and bananas. 

“A recipe devised by an air freight worker in the 1970s.” Has there been a more dismal phrase written in culinary history? 

I suppose we should offer thanks that the recipe doesn't conclude with 'and garnish with brown linoleum shavings'.

You can find the original recipe (in Swedish) for Flying Jacob here. Photo: Kr-val/Wikimedia Commons

Of course, a principal ingredient in the Flying Jacob is cream. 

Northern Swedes have dairy products with everything. Bloodpudding (an utterly taste-free distant cousin of the UK's delicious black pudding) is eaten with butter. BUTTER!

It's the same with palt, a food that was used when the Swedish army had run out of cannonballs in 17th century warfare.

I'm not actually sure what palt is made from. 

It could be a wood industry by-product, or perhaps now that asbestos is banned from use in construction work, they've found another purpose for it as the principal ingredient in one of northern Sweden's least tasty and most-hard-to-chew, er, delicacies.

I've tried palt, of course I have. My twin girls love it and have insisted I try it (with butter, of course!). 

My verdict? I've never actually eaten insulation but I imagine it's not too dissimilar in texture and taste to palt.

But it's not been a complete dead loss. The girls, displaying that bewildering toddler fascination for terrible food, love it, for example. And there was a local dog that sometimes trotted onto our land for a spot of toilet action.

One well-aimed palt boulder soon disabused Lasse of the notion that Connolly Acres was a safe haven for a bowel movement. He's not been seen since.


A ball of palt. Photo: Jurek Holzer/SvD/TT

Food is so terrible up here that I wasn't even going to mention surströmming – the rotting, fermented herring that all Swedes claim to love.

In any case, surströmming is a national rather than regional food. When I say 'food', what I really mean is 'dare'. Because that's what it is. It's a dare. The vast majority of Swedes don't eat it because they like the taste.

If they genuinely enjoyed the taste why would they place the tiniest flake of rotting flesh on a piece of tunnbröd and smother it in potato salad, cheese and onions? How can you taste that?

No, if Swedes really enjoyed surströmming, the way they proclaim to, they'd be scooping it out of the tin – in much the same way as Winnie The Pooh uses his paws to eat honey from those big jars – not covering it in a mountain of other ingredients that are used purely to disguise the foul taste of hell.

However, it's the north's pizza obsession that most baffles me. They don't even like proper pizza. 

Kebab pizza? Hamburger pizza? It's pizza for toddlers.

Kebabpizza, one of the most popular pizzas in Sweden. Photo: Maja Suslin/TT

Ask for extra fresh tomato on your pizza, and they look at you as if you've asked for the sacrifice of their first-born. But ask for another couple of kilos of kebab meat or a litre of bearnaise sauce and they'll smile and oblige happily.

Bearnaise, yeah, there's that butter again. This reliance on dairy is easy enough to explain. Cream, milk and cheese are all easily-accessible in the north; they're local foods in the same way that tomatoes, peppers and onions are staples in the Mediterranean. 

And, during the cold winters of the past, the populace needed to fatten up.

But it's 2019 now. We have central heating. How about trying something that isn't smothered in cream or invented by an air freight worker (would you want to fly in a plane designed by Gordon Ramsay?)? 


How about some food with tomatoes?

Tomatoes have been our stock ingredient, the base of nearly everything (non-child related) we cook, since our London days. 

We've had northern Swedes over for dinner and they've been clearly discomfited by the pronounced absence of dairy in the food – one chap picked at his tiny portion of tomato-based food as if expecting to uncover a hand grenade.

I'm pretty sure most of the villagers here think we're part of some tomato-obsessed cult.

My neighbours are mustard-keen gardeners. They have a greenhouse where they grow huge numbers of tomatoes. A year or so after we moved here, I asked them what they cook with them.

The woman looked at me, puzzled, a big bowl of tomatoes in her hand.

“Cook? No, I don't cook with them. I just grow them because I like to. And because we know you like them.”

And she handed over the bowl of lovely tomatoes. And has continued to do so every summer since.

It's an exchange that encapsulates northern Sweden: wonderful neighbourliness and a total aversion to good food.

Paul Connolly is a Skellefteå-based writer and monthly columnist for The Local. Follow him on Facebook and read more of his writing on The Local.