Summer in Sweden showcases one of the country’s most endearing contradictions.
For more than a century Swedes have thrown their collective weight behind an unprecedented project of modernisation. Whole city districts were razed early in the 20th century to make way for functional apartment blocks where working class living standards improved dramatically overnight.
In the ensuing decades, working conditions too became more modern and by the 1980s Sweden was well established as one of the wealthiest countries in the world.
But deep inside the folksjäl, or collective consciousness, fond memories linger of simpler living. And so, like clockwork, Sweden’s cities empty each year when Midsummer hits as holiday makers head to their summer houses.
Many of the cabins are pretty swanky, but it’s not unusual to find yourself thrust back into a different world. And so it was when I visited friends for an August crayfish party at their summer house in Östergötland a few years ago.
My wife baked a västerbottenpaj and we left Stockholm to spend a night at the old farmstead our friends had bought in the Sankt Anna archipelago, a three-hour drive away.
READ ALSO: How to make Swedish Västerbotten pie
Most of the invitees worked in the culture sector and I only knew a couple of them. We agreed to pick up a theatre worker along the way. Once we reached the archipelago he looked out the window and deemed the landscape “jävligt pitto”, which made us laugh. Basically, ‘very picturesque’, but said in a way that made it sound disgusting. The views really were lovely though, small rocky islands and falu red cottages dotted across the Baltic Sea.
When we got to the house it was the same kind of setup you can find at summer cabins all over Sweden. There was no hot water and the toilet was an utedass, a small wooden cubicle with no plumbing. All of the guests were to sleep upstairs in a large barn beside a chicken coop that would provide us with eggs for breakfast.
The barn was also the venue for the party. More and more people arrived. Our friends had got to know some local farmers who were happy to give us the history of the area. Soon there were dozens of us sitting down and peeling crayfish and getting to know each other. A man in a beret explained to me how he had started making his own shoes.
Nothing really out of the ordinary so far. But once the drinks started flowing the evening took a turn I wasn’t expecting.
READ ALSO: How to survive a Swedish crayfish party and keep your dignity intact (sort of)
Have you ever seen the Wicker Man, the original British film from 1973? It starts out with a deeply Christian Scottish policeman being dispatched to an island to investigate the disappearance of a local girl. But it turns out the islanders have shunned modernity and still engage in pagan sacrifices. The air is thick with lust and fertility rituals.
The iconic Swedish actress Britt Ekland plays Willow, the landlord’s daughter at the pub where the virginal officer is staying. He's unmarried but engaged. A memorable scene depicts the poor man driven half demented with temptation as Willow sings a haunting song in the neighbouring room.
Meanwhile, the harvest has failed and the islanders demand a virgin sacrifice. But his Christian faith demands chastity.
That fictitious place, Summerisle, reminded me of what I had half-expected secular Sweden to be like before moving here.
It’s safe to say it didn’t quite live up to those expectations – until that night in Östergötland, when the snaps began to flow and the drinking songs began.
READ ALSO: How to prepare crayfish for your own Swedish 'kräftskiva'
As I braced myself for an evening of light small talk, a jolly-looking gent stood up and clinked his glass. Oh here we go, I thought, Helan går… Same procedure as every year.
But no. Instead he asked if anyone knew the drinking song about Sophia Loren. A whoop went up as a lot of people very obviously did know the song and were ready to get stuck in.
And so, with gusto, they sang:
Sophia Loren
låg ut i snåren
och räkna håren emellan låren.
The first shock was learning that Swedes put the emphasis on the first syllable in Loren, so that it rhymes with låren, thighs, and snåren, the dense undergrowth in which she lay counting hairs.
The second shock was finding out that the song gets filthier and filthier as it goes along.
As did the evening, with guests displaying an encyclopedic knowledge of bawdy Swedish drinking songs that I never knew existed.
Now I’m no deeply Christian Scottish policeman – in fact I’m none of those things – but the crayfish party in the Sankt Anna archipelago definitely made me feel like the kind of outsider who might be sacrificed if the hens failed to produce eggs.
I was, in Willow’s words, “a man who would come here of his own free will”. And so I would have to face the consequences of deciding to move to Sweden.
Luckily though, the chickens delivered a bumper crop that day and soon I was back on the road, safe and sound and a little less innocent.
READ ALSO: Swedish word of the day: kräfta
Comments