It’s an odd thing, to see your world through a stranger’s eyes. I took Miss Adventure on a tour of my wild homeland, and learnt a fair few things in the process.

First, on the Bergslagsleden trail, came the realisation that Swedish nature is uncannily like that of New England. It’s hardly surprising if you consider that it is the same mountain range – the US part just broke away from what was to become Scandinavia long before it became famous, a little like the poor bugger who opted out of the Beatles while they were still playing gin joints in Liverpool. So what I had hoped would be an exotic nature experience became more of a stroll down memory lane for her, as she reminiscenced about summer camps from bygone years.

Allemansrätten, every person’s right to roam, something I take for granted, was a topic of constant wonder, however; “This would be fenced in in the US”, “Trespassers would be shot and prosecuted, in that order”, and similar comments muttered with regular intervals.

Later, in Stockholm, things that I would never have given a second thought proved to be huge hits: princess cake and cinnamon buns I could understand, but Kalles kaviar, a specialty that I wouldn’t have given good odds if you had asked what Swedish food might be suitable for export to, well, anywhere, was hailed as genius. Similarly, Swedish dish cloths have an untapped potential to conquer the world, apparently, judging from the reaction they elicited.

Unsurprisingly, Swedes in general were seen as thinly disguised Vikings, and Swedish (or Nordic) design the benchmark against which all others were measured. In an effort to make this impression a little more nuanced we went to see the Wasa museum – showcasing the most (in)famous design fault in Swedish history. The 400-year old warship that was supposed to cement Sweden’s position as a maritime power to be reckon with, and then sank a mere fifteen minutes into its maiden voyage makes for a marvellous museum. The giant oaken hull looks like a behemoth from another world, a kraken arisen from the depths, which it is, of course.

If you’re unfamiliar with the story, the ship was of a new, untested design, partly thought-up by the king himself, in what must be said to be a display of incompetence and hubris of Trump-like proportions. Imagine the Orange One insisting on NASA designing a rocket on the basis of drawings he made (with not only his name on it, but with pictures of himself in the guise of a god, a Roman emperor, et cetera thrown in for good measure) and then trying to launch it into space. That was Wasa.

So much for our proud Viking heritage and sought-after design. (That doesn’t prevent us from overhearing a tourist from a certain country asking if this was a Viking ship, but there’s no helping some people…). Be that as it may, ignoring the effects this visit might have had on my friend, I insist we rent kayaks (again) to see Stockholm as it’s meant to be seen: from the water.

We set out in even windier weather than earlier in the week, and let the breeze take us down the Djurgårdsholmskanalen, past many a fantastic pleasure dome, where the autumnal hues of abundant foliage accentuate the fact that Stockholm is a very colourful and simultaneously green city.

No one else is mad enough to brave the elements, so we have the waters (nearly) to ourselves, but it’s too windy to circumnavigate the whole island, so we leave that for some future visit, and go urban hiking instead. Gamla Stan (the old town) proves a success, in spite of it being overrun with tourists. This, Americans don’t have: the old alley ways, cobbled and winding, exude an irresistible draw, and the ancient buildings with their staggered gables and walls askew, painted every hew of ochre, seem to glow in the afternoon sun. It’s sagolikt and I’m proud of this place and the people who have seen fit to keep it as it is.

And so our brief visit comes to an end. Miss A flies on to Iceland for her next adventure, and I go home to my adopted home in Belgium with renewed love for my fatherland. After all, it’s only once you gain an outsider’s perspective that you can truly understand something, and I have certainly done that.

((Nearly) all pics courtesy of LW)