Anastasia

I am 32 years old, and every day I fall in love with Sweden all over again — a country where the silence of the forest sounds as natural as chatting over a cup of coffee in a small corner café. It all started at school with Astrid Lindgren's fairy tales and Scandinavian legends, and then grew into an interest in the language, trips around Stockholm and walks along the quays of Gothenburg. Now it is important for me to understand how people feel in the January darkness somewhere in Lapland, what the owners of family bakeries think about, and why the word ‘fika’ means much more than just a coffee break. I read Swedish news, write down new words in the margins of my notebook, and almost every evening I try to cook something from local recipes to get to know the taste of the country not only with my eyes. I ask people about what is really important to them: from their favourite cinnamon buns to the philosophy of ‘lagom’ — a sense of moderation in everything. I am interested in how culture is hidden in the little things: in neatly arranged candles in winter, in country houses by the lakes, in how children learn to respect nature from an early age. I am not a tourist in search of postcards, but a student who carefully leafs through chapters about the north with those who have long called these birch trees and rocks home.

In this blog, I share my discoveries not as an expert, but as a neighbour who dropped in ‘for a minute’ to borrow a pinch of cinnamon and ended up staying to listen to family stories. I write about what really touches me: how not to rush in Stockholm and still have time to enjoy the archipelago, why Swedes are so careful with their dialects, how a small farmers' market can tell you more about a country than any guidebook. I try to listen first, then write — and if you live in Sweden and notice any inaccuracies, your clarification will be the best gift for me. My admiration stems not only from the sights of the old town, but also from a simple ‘tack för maten’ at the communal table and the quiet confidence that the light in the courtyard will surely come on when it gets dark. Thank you for letting a curious foreigner into your everyday ‘that's just how it is’ — I feel the generosity of this trust and cherish it. I invite you to walk alongside me: to share notes, smiles and that quiet feeling that the north can warm you better than any words.