Category: Norway & Sweden 2025

We take regional accents for granted in the UK. Of course, they occur worldwide, but as a visiting Brit, they’re more or less impossible to detect.

To Mr S, who only went through the motions of learning a second language at school, these shared Scandinavian Old Norse ‘regional’ sounds seem unreal. Surely they’re not proper words, just a load of gobbledygook nonsensical utterances? Quite a mystery as to how they seem to be able to understand each other. Amusingly, every now and then, an English word gets thrown into the melting pot. Fortunately, it’s not the word ‘like’.

To the untrained ear, you could be forgiven for thinking Danish and Swedish are virtually the same language. However, if you listen very carefully . . . the Danes seem to chew on their words, half-choke on them, then spit them out in disgust, like a piece of unwanted gristle, that’s spent far too long in their mouth. Swedes, on the other hand, breath out their words in huffing, puffing chains of low, then high notes. As if they’re a singer methodically warming-up their vocal chords before an important performance; somehow always managing to end each sentence with a questioning mini-exclamation, just to exaggerate their point.

Fortunately, our untrained mouths and ears have absolutely no problem communicating easily with either Dane, or Swede. They all understand and speak English better than the average Brummie . . .

Our two night stay at Mora-Lite Camping is perfectly positioned close to Mora. It’s home to Sweden’s most famous painter – Anders Zorn. We go visit his legacy. Left by him and his wife to the Swedish Nation.

Of his time, his considerable talent earned him a fortune. Royalty, famous and wealthy, from home and abroad sought him out. Willing to pay virtually any price for a portrait.

Inside the gallery, Mrs S is in her element. Eyes mesmerised. Inches from each masterpiece. Follows the lines of each brush stroke with awe. Mr S is not far behind . . .

Three hours of pleasure get interrupted by a different type of masterpiece. We rediscover the virtuosity of the Scandi open sarni. This one entitled “Pulled pork on Rye”

We’re based in the heart of Dalarna region, staying within swimming distance of Lake Siljan, Sweden’s seventh largest. Beastie canters a little way south to the small town of Nusnäs – home to another worldwide favourite – the Dala horse. Created in 1928 by brothers Nils and Jannes Olsson.

Elias, a family member and shareholder in the business, demonstrates his dexterity. His personal record is 2,760 in one day. Apart from on-site orders, they ship worldwide, with demand highest from the Asian and US markets. At the end of his demo he hands Mrs S a free gift for grandson Jason – something to paint when he’s a little older.

Local villager Stephan has been working in the business since 1986. The speed and accuracy of his work is astounding. Even while we ply him with questions.

When your ‘to-do’ list is as long as your arm, there’s always a choice to make. Do you start with the easier tasks, reduce the list more quickly? Or start with the more enjoyable one’s, imagining that the others less favoured, might disappear into the ether. Then again, do you prefer to tackle the most hated job first, just to ‘get it out of the way’? Of course, it could all depend on the mood you’re in.

Now I’m not implying that 2 Cheeses hate big cities, per se. Each one can offer good reason to make a visit. Stockholm being no exception with its unique waterways and islands structure, plus its many verdant spaces. Yet there is always something lacking within these man-made jungles. An invisible mystical force that can’t be defined. A soul perhaps.

Despite this, over 50% of the world’s populations reside within these concrete confines.

Our journey starts from the elevated platform of Bredäng Station. It sits nicely alongside the dozen 1964 apartment blocks, within a lush green park, that also contains a fantastic mix of designated sports facilities for the locals. Sixty-one years later they still look as impressive as they must have done then.

Then we go about striking off another from our list. With transport system now fully sussed we hop on, and hop off metro and bus with both eyes shut. It’s that easy! No longer blind bunnies. When we open them again, we find ourselves on Djurgården island, entering the massive Skansen open air museum, one of the world’s oldest. Opened to the public in 1891. Housing twenty-two museums and other attractions, the island is the go to place for all visitors.

From the 16th century onwards and still to this day, the majority of Swedes have their wood build houses painted Falu Red. An iron-rich long lasting pigment. Commerce and industry followed the trend. Wealthy, or not. It was and still is, the ‘in’ colour.

How on earth the buildings were dismantled and rebuilt is quite astounding – an IKEA pre-cursor perhaps . . .

The site is laid out like a town, with a farmstead on the outskirts, a nordic zoo, plus our favourite – a seal enclosure. We arrive at Scooby Snack time.

We hoped the very patient onlooker would be rewarded – but he never was . . .

He rids himself of his frustration with some playfulness . . .

There’s a time and a place for everything. An accepted criteria that applies under appropriate circumstances. Going against the grain, or sailing into the wind, can sometimes be ill-advised.

Day 11 – A short squirt of 169K into the suburbs of Stockholm, almost feels like a rest day. It starts with a local LIDL shop. We leave as ‘dry’ as we entered, which is unusual to say the least. There’s no wine in store. That’s due to the fact that all drinks with an alcoholic percentage of more than 3.5% can only be purchased from the Swedish government owned chain of outlets called Systembolaget. But where are they?

Pitched up at Bredäng Camping, which abuts the Sätraskogens Nature Reserve puts us in easy striking distance of the capital. Tomorrow’s look-see.

Day 12 – We all have slightly different ways of doing the same thing, don’t we? Whether it be loading the dishwasher, or tying our shoe laces. You’d think that there would be only one or two ways that a public transport system could be organised too, but no. Like an IKEA flat pack instruction leaflet, it’s only once you’ve completed said task, that you can then fully understand the mentality of the creator and where he intended those two ‘extra’ screws to go. Every major city seems to adopt their own system for essentially doing the same thing. Even the associated travel app’s can confuse rather than help. United, Europe may be, but divided in its approach to directing passengers along its transport network. And so it was this morning. After purchasing two metro tickets, the app indicates they need activating before use. So like the obedient user Mr S is, the ‘Activate Now’ button gets tapped. Mistake! A countdown starts. The ticket expires in 75 minutes. We’re just finishing breakfast and nowhere near ready to leave. Plus, it’s a twenty minute walk to the station! [The second ticket does not get activated.] The first one expires less than thirty seconds before platform entry! A quick explanation to the kind understanding woman in the kiosk and she lets me through the ‘idiots this way’ channel.

With a grey and cool windy start to enjoy, we step off onto one of Stockholm’s many islands – Gamla Stan, AKA Old Town. The capital’s fourteen islands are all inter connected, by umbilical cords of either bridge or ferry. The old town shows no signs of revealing any quaintness. Most likely because, as was common during the 17th century, you could substitute the word quaint, for ain’t. As in, ‘it ain’t ere no more, on account that it got burnt down – again’. Instead, high rise regal looking buildings of bricks and stone, tower over and shade the not so narrow streets of cobble. The man-made mini wind-tunnels remind us to keep layered up.

Despite our disappointing Royal Palace visit in Copenhagen, we venture into its Swedish namesake. In for a penny, in for a Krona, so to speak. More to get-get warm than anything else. Also, as we’re now in the land of master builders IKEA, could this Royal Palace possibly outdo its cross-border neighbour?

Like many cities, some of its more ancient history is discovered ‘below stairs’. The Royal Palace no exception, having literally risen from and now resting upon the ashes of Tre Kronor Castle, burnt to cinders in 1697. Housing over 1,400 rooms it required, and still does, an exceptional amount of heating. In those days, an abundance of wood was always to hand. [it probably still is] Now in the Palace, as in over 50% of Swedish homes and businesses, they utilise a system they call ‘District Heating’. These are local waste-to-energy power plants, that efficiently manage residual heat from various sources. A sort of turbo-charge system. As a result, only 4% of Swedish waste ends up in landfill.

Time and tide waits for no man (unless you’re the skipper of the Vasa), so we head over to the museum dedicated to that warship and its sad demise.

Under pressure from the King, a too-quick faulty build resulted in an unstable hull. A freak gust of wind caught the sails and with the lower set of canon port holes open ready to salute the King, it rolled to one side. Water gushed in to the open port holes. It sank quickly. The rest is history.

Salvaged in 1961, it took courage and strength for the divers who were tasked with digging a series of tunnels underneath the hull, to house the 6″ steel lifting cables. Their primitive suits weighing 100kg. The murky muddy water a sobering 4C.

There’s only one thing certain in life – and that is its exact opposite.

The closer we approach the inevitable, the more thought we give to where and how, we’d like our body to be laid to rest. If on land, then the chances are we’d like it to be somewhere pretty. Under the branches of a spreading oak tree perhaps; or scattered amongst a garden of roses. Do we harbour these thoughts for our benefit now? For surely once we’re dead it hardly matters, does it? Or does our final resting place simply help to bring succour to those we leave behind?

Day 9 – Situated in the Swedish Bible Belt, Värnamo Camping is today’s end of the line – so to speak. A convenient third of the way to Stockholm. A cheap and cheerful stopover with all facilities in good working order.

Earlier we negotiate the ‘Bridge’, made world famous by its namesake series from 2011. With no sign of a torso blocking our lane we sail under and over the 15.9K Øresund Strait, that links Denmark with Sweden.

Day 10 – Shortly after setting off, Beastie gets reigned in, left grumbling kerb-side. There’s a nip in the air and he’s not had chance to warm his toes yet.

Mrs S has spotted an interesting cemetery and is intrigued. Its partly symmetrical and orderly layout adds strength in honouring those who are laid to rest here. Immaculately trimmed hedgerows divide and unclutter. There’s one thing in life Mrs S loves and that is ‘tidy”. And very tidy and well cared for it is. I’m sure it’s the sort of spot she’d be very happy to ‘retire’ to!

Later and a further 278K north east, we come to rest, so to speak, at Skeppsdockan Camping, Söderköping.

Dinnertime is put on hold as we venture down canal-side into ‘old town’. It’s a delightful amble into its quaint history. Information boards add a sense of reality to the ancient village.

As children we learn the useful adage ‘never judge a book, by its cover’. The premise being, that what we see with our eyes from the outside, doesn’t always reveal what’s on the inside.

Nowadays, it can be all too easy to gather opinions. Get fooled. Make snap judgements. Without giving too much thought. Like fishermen in open waters dragging nets along the murky deep. Catching all and sundry. Giving little consideration as to what’s worth keeping, or what should be thrown back as worthless.

Yet, what we hear, see and read across every media platform does exactly that. Fills those nets. So called influencers’ continuous snippets swim freely across the airwaves. Alongside edited news-reels. Creating shoals of masterful mind-bending illusions. Undercurrents flow with a caustic cauldron of truths, half-truths and lies. What to believe, or what not to believe becomes paramount.

Day 7 – The town of Nyborg, presents us with a welcome break en-route to today’s two-nighter at Absalon Camping, Copenhagen.

One would be forgiven for thinking that we stumbled on a delightful and ancient township. Yet after an hour’s stroll, accompanied by a bone-chilling north easterly, we wonder why we’d stopped here, wishing we’d never even bothered. Agree to give a wide berth when passing on the way home.[true or false?]

Day 8 – We catch the commuter train into ‘bike-city’ – AKA Copenhagen. We have an 11am walking tour booked. With a 1.3K walk at either end, we surpass ourselves. Arrive at the meeting point with seven minutes to spare. 15C, little wind and clear blue above. Perfect city gawping weather.

Highlights of Copenhagen, by Politically Incorrect Free Tours is led by ginger-nut Conrad, our half-English, half-Danish guide. Before we set off, Conrad warns that if there is anybody who is sensitive, or easily offended, then this walk is probably not for them and they may as well f*** off now. The couple of dozen in our young group (apart from us and the two Scottish ladies), are a mix of English, Canadian, Scots, American, French, German, Spanish, Andorran, one girl from Japan, one from India, plus one from Burma.

Conrad’s spiel is a comedic mix of facts, hearsay and invention. He quickly has us hanging on every (swear) word and quip. At each stop he doesn’t stop to draw breath. Most countries in the world can find good reason to take the mick (not his word) out of their nearest neighbours. Danes are no exception, as Conrad constantly reminds us, that amongst other things, the shape of Sweden resembles a flacid penis, with that connotation somehow reflecting on the Swedes’ national character.

Two hours fly by, but not before everyone’s mobile receives a Public Warning from the Danish Emergency Management Agency. They are about to test their air-raid siren!

We come away remembering very few facts (the whole point of the tour perhaps), other than at whichever building, or establishment he chose to stop, then at some time in its history it had burnt down, often more than once – it became the groups’ mantra.

After lunch we have the afternoon to ourselves. A calm relaxed mood emanates over the city. There’s no rush. Not much sound. No exhaust fumes.

We amble over to Rosenborg Castle – highly recommended on-line. A must see. It houses, amongst other things, the Danish Crown Jewels.

Inside, it’s a disaster darling. Ugly, or dark and dreary empty rooms, do nothing to conjure a feeling of the grand and luxurious past. It just goes to show, that you can’t . . .

We drag ourselves around the meaningless distraction. Feeling only too happy to drag ourselves away, but not before a spiral down to the cellar to view the prized possessions.

We finish our recce, but not before being reminded of the Genocide occurring in Palestine.

That greatest of biblical travelers, St Paul, when writing to the Philippians, claimed to have found contentment in all situations faced. Whether he had much, or little; whether he was starving, or not; whether he was in danger, or free from it.

2 Cheeses don’t lay claim to being a couple of saints, but since retirement we’ve found that being either at home, where we enjoy all the comforts of an easy lifestyle, or out on the road, away from family and friends, often cooped up inside Beastie’s tiny belly (in comparison) for hours on end, we both find ourselves capable of ‘being’ content.

Of course, as we head further north, the possibility of much lower temperatures may test those feelings of contentment in one Cheese, more than the other . . .

Day 4 – We end today’s journey at Camping Hümmlinger Land, just outside Werlte. At an en-route stop off, courtesy of Mr LIDL, we take possession of twelve bottles of familiar reds. All for the very notable price of €39. [UK cost would have been £70+] – it’s not often one can come away from a supermarket shop and feel quite as contented as this.

Day 5 – Entry onto Campingplatz Vogelzunge, just outside Bad Bramstedt, treats us to our first and short dousing. Like a couple of squirrels, preparing for the onset of winter and armed with knowledge of a certain lack of wine outlets in Sweden and Norway, coupled with their much higher prices, we repeat yesterday’s foray!

Is contentment that easy to find . . .?

Day 6 – We’re now pitched up a further 206K north, on the very new and spacious Dancamps site at Kolding, Denmark. Showering facilities here and the previous two stops have been first class and with evening temperatures hovering below the nether regions, underfloor heating has been a welcome luxury.

Earlier in the day, Mr S decides to make an ad-hoc turn off. An enticing UNESCO World Heritage sign leads the way to a mid-afternoon sunny leg stretch. Founded in 1773 by the Moravian Church, Christiansfeld is a delightful and charming example of 18thC town planning.

Baked to a secret spice recipe from 1773, we’re further enticed into Café Morgenstjernen. Sit and sample the town’s famed chocolate covered honey cakes . . . obviously contentment comes in many guises . . . 😇😇

The human brain craves pleasure. It will go to extraordinary lengths to satisfy that need. Send its body on masochistic errands of error even. Unwittingly transform that need into greed. All for its own sake. Often at the sake of others.

Today, we allow ourselves to get hooked. Forget the weed. Become a couple of junkies of a different kind. Indulge in some social pandering. Stimulate those hedonic parts of the brain that get high on ‘the visual’.

For a short eight weeks of the year, Koekenhof Gardens are in full bloom. Magical multi-coloured carpets, predominantly tulips, laid out in regal fashion, welcome its 1.5 million visitors. We go tread that light-fantastic show. Join today’s 26,000, in this, its 76th year.

Our expectations are exceeded. We came anticipating a typical flat Dutch landscape. With endless rows and rows of plantings. However, in places, it’s like a New Forest Wonderland.

Each year, the chief designer draws up new and different plans. All old bulbs are dug up. New ones shipped in by over one hundred different suppliers – gratis! Then it’s over to his team of forty gardeners to get to work. During October, November and December they plant seven million bulbs. [my knees flinch at the thought]

A perfect blend of formal and informal designs lead the visitor on a journey of joy. In order to maintain as much colour as possible throughout the eight weeks, some sections are planted in tiers of three. With the latest flowering bulb buried below the earlier two.

Brought over from Türkiye in the sixteenth century, the tulip is now synonymous with the Netherlands. Eight hundred varieties are put on display at Koekenhof, within a landscape of 2,500 trees.

We depart on an exuberant high . . .

No one knows your body better than you do, so we tell ourselves. But that is generally based on the way we are feeling at any given moment. What’s causing those ‘feelings’ – aches, pains, sickness, racing heart, giddiness, burning sensations and the like, is another story.

Of course, nowadays, the second something doesn’t feel quite right inside, we go ask that clever Dr Google. Describe our symptoms in detail. Hope he’ll sympathetically say “It’s nothing to worry yourself about. Just take two paracetamol and get a good night’s sleep” Then we get paranoid and overly concerned when his newly appointed Ai assistant reels off a huge list indicating we could be suffering from virtually every known disease under the sun.

We break today’s short journey of 96K, just shy of our destination – Camping Op Hoop Van Zegen. Go visit the Corpus Museum. A 3.15pm pre-booked walk through of the human body. Fortunately it’s a dry run, so wellies aren’t required.

The museum is situated within the Leiden Bio Science Park – a picturesque combination of ultra modern buildings, allotments, pathways and cycle lanes, seamlessly blended, as only the Dutch do, alongside the road network.

With time to spare we take advantage of today’s tropical temperature – go exploring.

The one hour audio guided tour takes us on a journey through the digestive, blood and reproductive systems. A few special 3D side-shows thrown in for good measure, emphasise and aid memory recall. Aimed at young teenagers, mainly for educational purposes we suppose. First year Biology springs to mind. Bodily functions presented in an interesting, easy to understand and sometimes amusing way. The brain is given pride of place, naturally. Yet even this brilliant super-structure, described as the most complicated and sophisticated organism in the Cosmos, is capable of getting things very wrong. Visual perception a typical example . . .

Perhaps this predisposition can be explained by the fact that a human has 25,000 genes. The same number as a fruit fly, a worm and . . . a potato!

Dilemmas come in all shapes and sizes. Decision making put upon us. Sometimes brought about by our own volition. Sometimes by uncontrollable outside forces.

Daily life is full of them and not always a choice between the lesser of two evils. Pleased as punch when the right one is made. Sad and frustrated when not.

When two people are involved, especially if differing opinions of a possible outcome are forthcoming, then the possibility of right and wrong can come into play. Pointing fingers; laying of blame. “Didn’t I warn you that would happen!”

Fortunately for Mr & Mrs S, joint decisions don’t come with that sort of baggage. Acceptance of whatever the outcome being key. No need to worry unnecessarily. Why build a mountain where only a molehill exists?

Even before we set off, a number of decisions needed to be made. The most important one (for Mr S) was whether, or not, to take Scoot. At 100kg, would he hinder our very steep (so we’ve heard) uphill climbs in Norway? [a real fear born from Beastie’s backwards slide going up Mount Nemrut in Türkiye.] Would the weather ever be suitable? [we’re really fair-weather bikers] With limited availability of wine outlets in Norway and Sweden, plus the extortionate cost of alcohol in general, the decision was made more easy; or should that read more palatable? The thought of stashing away up to 100kg of wine for the duration a no brainer!!!

For Mrs S, it was all about what clothes to take. What footwear to take. Just how many seasons are we likely to encounter? According to what’s secreted inside her on-board cubby-holes, it seems all four.

Since Brexit, it’s been against EU regulations to take any dairy, or meat products across from the UK. We’ve ignored that ‘precept’. Justified our decision on the basis that everything we bring is for our own consumption and in any event, never leaves Beastie’s inners, until inside ours. However, to minimise the possibility of confiscation, or even worse, a whacking great fine, before entering Le Shuttle, we’ve previously emptied the fully loaded fridge and freezer of said items and concealed them until over the border. A real bind. But a necessary one. Today, after never previously being searched, we agree to take a gamble. Come over all blasé. A question of Que Sera, Sera.

We get off scot-free . . .

And now, after a very tiring day’s travel we’re happily pitched up at Recreatiepark Klaverweide, Netherlands. 308k up the road from Calais.