July 29, 2018. I woke up to rain leaking through the fly of my tent. People kept walking by, which made me nervous. Got a cappuccino for $5, a burger for $21, and a flavorless gelato for $6. I still had sticker shock. Sweden was much more expensive than Finland, which was much more expensive than Estonia, which was much more expensive than Latvia and Lithuania.

This had been one of the hottest summers in history. I’d been struck seeing the dead birch trees on the small islands we had passed on the ferry. Climate change was striking Europe much harder than back home. My friends were bragging about the moderate summer temperatures.

On the way back into town, I spotted a lake and jumped in, thoroughly refreshed. I walked around the nearby neighborhood and saw a small stone kids’ playhouse with dolls in the window. I found a good cafe called Drop Coffee, and talked with the Australian and Italian staff, who were very nice and passionate about coffee.

Later, I walked around trying to find a good gelato place. I ended up getting lingonberry and cookies-and-cream, but both just tasted like ice—no flavor. After walking around more, I headed to Djurgården. Walked along the esplanade and passed the stadium built for the 1912 Olympic Games. The surrounding neighborhood used to be a shantytown beyond the toll booth area, which they once called “utter darkness.”

From there I visited the Historiska Museum and learned about Vikings. I loved this place and came back days later. I devoured the exhibit which was so comprehensive. I learned about a short period of time during which Vikings traded with the Sami. Sami shamans wore women’s jewelry and were believed to travel between worlds—they were highly respected. Outside the museum, I spoke with a woman who was re-enacting a Viking marketplace. Walked around Djurgården and talked to Shawn. I had just turned on roaming when he called 10 seconds later.

I left and headed to Rosendal Palace, which was beautiful. It was built for a Frenchman who became king of Sweden. I especially liked walking through the hedgerow labyrinth. I was really hungry, so I took a few photos and headed back. Ate at a Chinese place—very low quality. I got a few pieces of cabbage and chicken, and the staff treated me dismissively.

I wandered through a nearby neighborhood that I liked. I found an old church on a hill and passed several wooden houses built after the 1757 fire. There had once been a tannery and a textile mill nearby.

On the way back, I passed a brick water tower and the oldest theater in Stockholm, which had been the center of comedy and entertainment. I finally returned to the camping spot, though I didn’t want to. Motorcycles drove by all night, and in the morning, heavy equipment started up. It was awful.

July 30. I woke up too early and tried to fall back asleep, but had to move my car and tent to make room for a passing truck. Later, I headed to the lake and waded in, feeling like a swamp monster covered in dirt. While I was changing, a guy came by and casually mentioned it was better to swim on the other side—he was very relaxed about nudity. Afterward, I went to Lidl—finally, I could eat properly again! I spent 419 SEK, about 45 dollars, which felt much cheaper than the 21-dollar hamburger from before, though prices here were still higher than other Lidls I’d seen.

On the way to Djurgården, I spotted a UNESCO sign for Skogskapellet, the Woodland Chapel designed in 1919, the first of five chapels in the Skogskyrkogården cemetery. I stopped at the Historiska Museum to see their Viking exhibit, then wandered through Djurgården and admired the Rundāle Palace. The heat was intense. I ran into Halil near the naval museum just after spotting a hot air balloon. Halil is from Ankara, Turkey, and has worked as a chef in an international restaurant in Stockholm for four years. After catching up, I finally found a camping spot for the night.

July 31. Finally, I slept well. I had a long talk with Kang about my last visit to my dad in Colorado. There was a lot of regret and bad memories—at times, it felt like that was the last time I saw him, even though I had actually spent plenty of time with him in Seaside and Tahoe, where I had five days to visit. The memories mostly surfaced when I recalled moments he yelled at me, but then the good memories came back—like a small miracle.

Later, I had most bitter latte of my life at Tosse, a fancy konditori. I couldn’t drink it, but not doing so felt like a waste of money. My frugal genes kicking in again. I went back to the Historiska Museum but didn’t finish before they closed at 5 p.m. From there I walked to the other side of the Djurgården district and saw the art museum and some charming houses—very pretty. Afterward, I discovered Sno Gelato and, gelato in hand, strolled along the marina to a large park. I had a lovely walk.

On my way back, I saw a Thai place and got Tom Kha Gai soup to go. It was a relief to be able to afford something to eat! Later that evening I met up with Halil, and we talked for a while.

August 1. I woke at 7 a.m. to 81°F. I’d had a bad sleep —a van parked nearby and people were talking at the top of their voices at 3 am. I definitely need to find a better spot. It felt like a toxic waste dump, with a Mobil oil refinery just around the corner. I walked around and found a better campsite, then went swimming.

Later, I visited the naval museum, followed by the ethnographic museum, where I parked in the shade to avoid the heat. I got a $100 parking ticket—ouch. It was another hot day. The temperature peaked at 89°F . I returned to the Historiska Museum and finished going through the exhibit on Swedish history. It was painful to learn about Sweden’s eugenics program, forced sterilizations, and racial profiling that went well into the 1960s.

Just before 5pm I headed to the Vasa Museum but realized I wouldn’t make it in time, so I did the next best thing – gelato. I’d discovered Sno Gelato the day before, and it was fantastic—by far the best gelato I’ve had outside Italy. Today I met Gorda and Fedde, a Serb and a Kurd. We spent an hour talking about politics and the Kurdish question. Fedde told me how his father always pushed for Kurdish unity and the reclaiming of their land. Punished for my gluttony, I got a bout of diarrhea. I stopped in at Joe and the Juice to use the toilet, then headed to Gamla Stan, which is very pretty. I ran into Halil again and talked with him briefly.

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August 2. I swam and finally had a good latte. Met up with Halil and had breakfast. He lent me his bike and USB charger. At 11:39, I went to Skansen. It was extremely hot. I had a long conversation with a man working on a leather sheath for a knife at a farm exhibit, and a woman at the flax and timber-producing farm from Delsbo told me about the open-air museum there and the UNESCO-listed manors in the Hälsingland area north of Stockholm. I really liked it and stayed until 8 p.m. There was a lot of good information. Someone also recommended visiting Mora and Zorn’s home. I spoke with Nik at the Sámi camp, who told me about the current challenges facing the Sámi. I saw moose, wolves, reindeer, and a brown bear—everything was very hot and panting. Later, I went back to Gamla Stan. Shawn messaged me that the Crown Jewels were stolen yesterday and the thieves escaped by boat—very James Bond. Then I went back to the campsite.

August 3.
I had breakfast with Halil, then sat on a bench near the outlet of the Djurgården estuary. We talked about his hopes to move to Turkey and how hard it is to make money in Sweden because everything is so expensive. At 1, I went to the Nordic Museum and stayed until 6. A lot of the exhibits were started by the same person who founded Skansen. I found the folk customs and food section especially interesting—lice boards with holes, and sticks with branches at the top for stirring dough or oatmeal. The dough looked stiff and lumpy. Afterward, I got gelato at Sno and walked around the area. I went to a hotel where a nice concierge helped me plan my trip to Norway.

August 4.
I was worried about traffic from the Pride Parade. I had coffee at Broms and felt wired for the rest of the day. I went to the Vasa Museum at 11:30 and stood in line until noon. The ship was incredible—looming and massive. The tour was very good. I read all the signs and stayed until 3. Then I went to the Pride Parade. The loud house music wasn’t for me. I plugged my ears to protect them. I liked some of the people—it reminded me of the SF pride parade in the mid-1990s. I learned that parade had first began in Stockholm in 1998. I walked all over and stood on a bridge with a good vantage point. There were 207 floats. At the end, I walked around and talked with people.

Later in the evening I met with Halil and we talked more about his plans and hopes for the future. He was a good person and I felt lucky to have met him, like something out of a fairy tale. Be kind and others will help you.

It was a bad night—lots of campers in my spot, loud music, and fireworks.

August 5. I was grateful to Halil for his bike. It was great to be able to cover more ground, and I headed to Karla Café Halil’s bike a Napoleon before heading to Drottningholm Palace. I found a Lidl first. The palace grounds were beautiful, right on the water. I drove there but found out I could have taken a 2 hour ferry from Stockholm. The tour of the palace was remarkable. The baroque bedroom downstairs still had its original French wallpaper and bedspread, and a secret door connected the queen’s room to her husband’s, with a hidden staircase to avoid the servants.

I learned a lot about the palace’s history. The grounds and follies were lavish and impressive. I loved the Chinese Pavilion, especially the Chinese wallpaper and lacquerware. As I walked in the hedge labyrinth, it started pouring. I didn’t want to leave, everything was so beautiful.

Eventually, I left for Uppsala. I visited the cathedral and walked around. Gustav Vasa’s grave is there along with his wives. I wandered the university and nearby parks, then headed to Gamla Uppsala to see Sweden’s oldest national symbol, the Royal Mounds.

I camped by the river, but as usual, didn’t sleep well thanks to young punks that frequented the spot throughout the night.

August 6. I slept until 9:30 but still felt tired. I went back to Royal Mounds and checked out the museum. I learned a lot about the hall and the pagan gods. Dating back to the 5th and 6th centuries, the Royal Mounds of Gamla Uppsala have been shrouded in mystery. Some believed the three mounds to be the graves of Thor, Odin, and Freyr, while others thought them to be the burial sites of legendary kings. The latter speculation angered Swedish King Karl XV, and in 1830 he commissioned a widely publicized excavation to settle the matter once and for all.

Headed by Bror Emil Hildebrand, the first archaeological dig of the Eastern Mound confirmed that it was indeed a burial site, though findings were less than spectacular: A clay pot of burned bones and some burial gifts. They believed it to be a grave for either a young woman or a young man and a woman. The second excavation in 1874 of the Western Mound yielded more impressive findings of warrior equipment, luxury weaponry, as well as a prominent man dressed in a suit of golden threads. This grave was confirmed to date back to the 6th century. Though archaeologists were unable to identify the bodies of the mounds, they are quite certain the mounds belonged to a royal dynasty. 

The museum also had a display showing the Viking sites around the region, as well as information about the Faroe Islands and archaeological sites in Norway. From there I visited the church and saw Celsius’s tomb. There was an archaeological guide on one of the tombs, and I approached her with questions. She was very informative.

On my return to Uppsala I headed to the Linnaeus Museum, including his house and garden. I loved learning about his life and work in this small but important university town. I decided to revisit the cathedral, botanical garden, and castle, and was happy to see all 3 botanical gardens. Exhausted, I went to Café Linné for lemon meringue. It was granular and not very good, but I needed somewhere to sit.

I wasn’t sure whether I would return to see the Gustavianum, the original university building. I decided to camp next to Linnaeus’s Hammarby estate, which was very peaceful.

August 7. I woke after a good, but early, sleep. I explored the Hammarby buildings and walking trails, including the teaching path Linnaeus used with his students. I hiked to the hill where he kept his collection after his predecessor’s burned in the Uppsala fire. I really enjoyed it. The baroque gardens were beautiful, similar to the ones in town. I saw the stone cairn marking his property boundary.

Then I went to Uppsala for coffee at Adodo Café. Hanna owns it. We had a very informative conversation about U.S. electoral fraud. I introduced her to Greg Palast. She was very capable and kind. Her husband sat nearby and gave orders—familiar dynamic. She fixed another café’s coffee grinder while I was there. I also talked to a woman selling strawberries who goes to Florida in the winter. She doesn’t like the dark. She thinks Sweden is in trouble—too many immigrants, she said. Sounded a lot like right-wing Americans.

Then I headed to Gävle. I walked the esplanade from the theater to city hall and the river. A big fire once wiped out much of the old town, but some nice buildings remain. I continued on to Falun. It has a lovely main square and feels like a company town. I visited the church—too plain for my taste, very Protestant. On the way out, I found a tea and coffee shop. I met Anna, who lived in Mill Valley in the 1970s and loved it. A nice guy came in who had lived in L.A. for 20 years. He said it’s a shame his American friends can only travel for a week or two—they don’t really see anything that way. He liked my style of travel, both for the camping element and length, commenting that that’s how you connect with people.

From there I drove to Leksand. On the way, I found a lovely group of old houses. I went to the dock, walked around the village, and took photos. I went swimming—it was exactly what I needed. Afterward, I read some of Paul Theroux’s Riding the Iron Rooster, then headed to a Lidl to resupply. Swedes had told me to stock up on food before I hit Norway. If I thought Sweden was expensive, I hadn’t seen anything yet.

There was a nice ethnographic museum there, right on the river near the lake. I entered and explored it thoroughly before deciding to stave off hunger. Satisfied, I chomped on fried chicken, and after a nice walk, found a peaceful forest grove out of town where I could rest my head.

August 8. I slept till 11! Yippee. Upon waking, I peered out my tent at an old barn. I hadn’t remembered it seeing it the night before. I packed and drove to Tällberg and walked around. There’s a train station there. I tried to find a café, but there was no good coffee. I saw a nice building and went down to the lake for a swim. It was lovely—big birch trees, clear water. Then I drove to Mora where I had hoped to catch the Zorn Museum tour. I had driven an hour in the wrong direction and thought I would miss it completely, so sped up and passed a lot of cars. I made it by 2:25, and the Swedish guide let me in even though they said they wouldn’t. I was thrilled to be able to see Zorn’s traditional home as well as the modern museum housing his work.

I was most excited to see Zorn’s master paintings. But the museum also contained a huge silver collection (third largest in Sweden). He was known as one of the best portrait artists in the world, alongside John Singer Sargent and Delacroix. He had lived fast and hard, dying at 61. He made seven trips to the U.S., was friends with wealthy American industrialists, and painted three presidents’ portraits. He was close with Isabella Stewart Gardner—they went to Venice together with a gondolier.

I especially loved Zorngården, one of the most well-known artist homes in Sweden. Built and decorated around the turn of last century by Anders and Emma Zorn, it remains today almost untouched since their time. In 1886, Zorn had acquired a vacant lot near Mora church and moved a small wooden house to the property, which became the nucleus for the couple’s Mora home. Designed by the artist himself, the structure combined local timberwork traditions with the architecture of English houses and Zorn’s conception of Viking-era dwellings – simultaneously rustic and refined, grand and cozy. Artistic craftwork from Dalarna mixed boldly with items of great value acquired from abroad: woven tapestries, silver pieces, antique sculptures, and paintings by old masters. Behind the rather discreet facade was a home equipped with every conceivable luxury: refrigeration, stainless-steel kitchen counters, central heating, hot and cold running water, even a vacuum cleaner.

Additions were constantly made to the house, but by about 1910 it was finished, surrounded by a garden with berry bushes and fruit trees and adorned with a fountain sculpture in bronze made by Zorn himself. In the garden is the artist’s studio, housed in a medieval house with visible timber walls and wooden ceilings that dates to 1290.

After thoroughly enjoying the home and museum, I walked into the town of Mora, stopping at the big church with a statue of Gustav Vasa. It poured, but I kept walking, then drove to Idre. The town looked like something from Twin Peaks, but smaller. I saw a church with a sod roof and found a dirt road to sleep on. All the conifers along the road were tiny. I assume it was due to the short growing season and northerly latitude. It reminded me of trees I’d seen when I spent the summer in Alaska in 1984.