Basque-ing in Post-Thesis Glory

Like a bear coming out of a long winter hibernation, I have emerged from a year of dancesport presidency and six months of nose-to-the-grindstone research and writing, hungry for travels. I fear that the last six months of thesis writing may have altered my lucid prose, but I'll leave that assessment up to those who dare delve into this post. Good luck.

As the title revealed, I handed in my thesis a few weeks ago and quickly escaped to sunny southwestern France, home to the zone known as 'Basque country', a region spanning parts of two countries, featuring its own flag and language, and dreaming of independence - much like Wales in the UK.

But as I discovered, Basque country is so much more. It is food, sunshine, mountains tipping into the ocean; it's history and culture. It is a lifestyle. Allow me to count the ways (I suspect that's why you're here anyways).

The trip was facilitated by my French labmate, Christelle, who played host and tour guide for the journey. Landing at Biarritz airport, we were greeted by an incredible fiery sunset and a box of Gateaux Basque, courtesy of Christelle's family. Both the atmosphere and the cakes were excellent omens of things to come. After a quick (well... not quick enough to keep the original schedule) pit stop at her grandparents' house, we left the coastal area and headed inland to her parents' house, a lovely home overlooking vineyards and rolling hills with the snow-capped Pyrennes playing peak-a-boo off in the distance. We had a lovely Basque-pork and mash dinner followed both by chocolate mousse and a king cake. Christelle's mother was the winner of the trinket, a tiny porcelain sheep, which she offered to me as a souvenir of my visit. We went to bed relatively quickly thereafter as the following day promised frolicking in the mountains!

Eat something new: check.

Our base of operations for two days in the Pyrenees was a hotel in the village of Cauterets. From there, a short (zig-zag, uphill) drive took us to Pont d'Espagne. There was a nice stone bridge there, which I assumed was the Pont, but where we were miles and miles away from Spain I cannot vouch for the legitimacy of the title. The first day featured clear blue skies over a fresh coat of snow. The snowy mountains rose ruggedly above us with a sparse evergreen forest providing a dark green and white mesh to admire. The piste we followed that day was mixed-use: tracks had been set out for cross-country skiers, though we donned our cheerful raquettes (snowshoes) and took the slower mode of transport. We only set out at around 13:00 so we very quickly stopped to consume our lunch, which consisted of baguettes filled with delicious locally cured ham and local cheese. Then on we went, stopping periodically to admire the scenery and shoot a variety of photos. We plodded along for about 2.5 miles while following a stream, which wound around a relatively level, wide and barren basin. This permitted lovely views of the surrounding mountains without too much hard work. Still, I acquired some excellent blisters.

First time snowshoeing: check.

In Cauterets that evening, we looked up a restaurant on TripAdvisor. Though we originally fancied tartiflette - a delicious lardon, creme, reblochon, onion and potato concoction - we discovered something much more exciting at the restaurant. Indeed, it's not everyday you have the opportunity to cook your own steak slices on the side of a blazing hot cowbell. Each of us had a plate of steak and cured ham with some tomatoes and mushrooms, accompanied by au gratin potatoes; the meats and veg could be stuck onto the cowbell via some small spikes (though typically the meat stuck of its own accord!). A herb mixture, Bernese sauce, and a blue cheese sauce were also provided to add different flavours. A post-dinner stroll past the edge of the village revealed crystal clear night skies and excellent astronomy above white-capped mountains. That's basically all I want in life.

Eat dinner off of a cowbell: check.

The second day, unfortunately, brought light rain showers. Undeterred, we donned our snow gear once again. This time, we elected to take a trail that was not maintained by the park. Though we were snowshoeing 'at our own risk', the trail was well trodden. This hike was much more forested than the previous day's, allowing us to do some 'real' hiking. We came across a clearing about a mile in, in which, to our excitement, someone had built a two-room igloo! Ready for a break, we crawled in the spacious abode, had a snack and relaxed for a bit, then became stiff and chilled and decided to keep going. There was also a lake nearby, which provided a nice spot to look out over the snowy, soggy, cloudy, rocky landscape. Turning around, we headed back towards Pont d'Espagne. At two points I noticed really fresh sets of deer tracks crossing the trail, which I hadn't noticed previously. Christelle looked out into the woods and we were surprised and excited to see two groups of a herd of Chamois, maybe 6 or 7 between the two sightings. Chamois are basically mountain goats with dark brown to black fur. The males had a distinctive dark stripe down their nose and horns. We won a staring contest with one such male, who became distracted by a tasty-looking pine branch.

Win staring contest against a wild animal: check.

Making a quick stop in Lourdes to check out the famous cathedral (which, sadly, was closed), we drove all the way back to Biarritz, our point of call for the remainder of our adventures. That night we dined on yet another French specialty, confit de canard, prepared by yours truly. It wasn't hard, really. Open can. Dig through congealed fat until you find four duck quarters. Fry. Even after leaving most of the congealed fat in the can, the duck legs were basically deep fried. It was amazing. After wine and duck and potatoes and more gateaux basque, all was well. We watched Pixar's Ratatouille and went to sleep. I hadn't slept that well in months.

Become an acclaimed French chef: check.

Biarritz and the coast was gorgeous. Temperatures around 20C made for very pleasant strolls in three seaside areas over the subsequent days. The first day we explored St. Jean-de-Luz, a town with a small harbour, a long beach, and yummy macarons. We also ventured down to Hendaye, walked on the promenade by the water, watching the surfers desperately try to make something happen. As the sun fell in the sky a mist rolled in off the ocean. It was an ethereal setting along the beach. Following the promenade, I realised we were very near to the 'end of France', so we carried on all the way to the end. There, a harbour with a protected inlet separated Spain from France. We watched the sun disappear behind the mountains over Spain, then turned around in time to see an impressive full moon poke through a few clouds to light up the dreamy, dark marina. Van Gogh would certainly have been inspired.

Sublime moonrise: check.

Believe it or not, the next day was even better. We drove from Biarritz down to San Sebastian, Spain; my first time in the country. San Sebastian (or Donostia in Basque) is an ancient city on a wide natural elliptical harbour. One 'long' side of the harbour constitutes a beach over a mile long. Two tall promontories on the opposite side of the harbour, along with a turtle-shaped island, protect the harbour from the ocean beyond. It just so happens that San Sebastian has been designated a European capital of culture for 2016, so we were excited to see that a number of events were being hosted the day we visited. In particular we naturally had to check out the Basque folk dancing. It was exciting to see over 100 normal people doing the dances to a live band. An accordionist with a Basque flag-adorned instrument was the focal point of the band. It was fun to observe the festivities and draw comparisons with the British equivalent, Morris dancing.

 Become cultured: check.

Afterwards we found a top-notch tapas (pintxos in Basque, pronounced pinchas.. an appropriate name) place: crowded, small, standing-only. They basically throw the food at you, especially if you can't speak any Spanish or Basque! We had some incredible octopus, salt encrusted bacalau (recall from Portugal, cod), a massive pork (I think) rib, risotto, something I can't now remember, and a mystery dish - Orejas de Credo. Mind you, it's not a mystery anymore. In fact, I'm proud to say I've tried my first pig ears. They were... squishy... and gelatinous... and were a pile of blackish strips on the plate. Christelle was unenthused, so I scored a whole dish to myself! After walking around the ocean side of the eastern promontory and pausing for a quick coffee, we started to climb up to the top, which hosted a medieval castle. The castle itself wasn't overwhelmingly impressive but it afforded the most amazing views westward over the harbour and along the coast of Spain. From here - under clear skies - we sat for a couple hours as afternoon turned to evening and evening into night. The sky transitioned from blue to blazing reds and oranges as the distant mountains became mauve two-dimensional shapes against the radiant backdrop. Speckles emerged in the sky as orange lights began to light the harbour town below and, with the moon blocked by the promontory at our backs, we had a near 360 degree view of a perfect night sky. A lighthouse on the opposite promontory joined two others far off in the distance in a firefly-like display.

The most amazing tapas and sunset: check.

Regrettably dinner was a bit... missable. We decided that rather than going to an amazing restaurant in the Spanish countryside, it would be far more interesting to get a flat tire under a moonlit sky. It's the first time I've changed my own tire out of necessity, but hey, it was all good fun and part of the experience. We also learned how to use a Spanish air pump after playing charades with a petrol station attendant ('Do you speak English or French?' 'No, only Catalan and Basque' 'Hmm... Numatico..' *draws line across throat*).

Invoke Boy Scout training: check.

In our remaining time, we wandered in the country around Christelle's grandparents' home and meandered up and down the rocky and beachy waterfront in Biarritz. Her grandparents live outside a very small village about 30-45 minutes from the coast. The village and environs are known for their production of Espellette peppers, a bright red mildly-hot pepper with a delicious flavour (I had it in chocolate!). The communities harvest the peppers each summer and hang them up to dry on vertical strings on the facades of all the buildings. Her grandparents have been living in the area for decades and - according to tradition - they built the house themselves. It has an amazing country feel and a lovely, iconic view (of another amazing sunset). The only thing warmer than the cozy wood fire inside was the hospitality of the residents, who insisted on serving us apple tart and drinks. I should also mention that the region is known for a digestif called patxaran (pronounced: pecheran), which is apparently made from macerating sloe berries in anisette (an anise liqueur) over a long period. It's very nice... and fruity. As for Biarritz, I particularly enjoyed seeing the waves crash against the rocks, surveying the beach from the city's own promontory, and watching the lighthouse check up on the beach every 10 seconds at nighttime. We went to a delicious pizzaria one evening. The tartiflette pizza - a special - was a bit heavy, but the quattro stagioni was very nice. And of course there was dessert: homemade baba au rhum... which was probably more rum than cake!

Ponder the merits of a life in the countryside: check.

For what it's worth, I haven't said much about our typical meals over the trip. Indeed, we ate a lot of cake, croissants, pain au chocolat, hot chocolate, baguettes, cheeses, cured ham (lomo is a common Basque variety), fruits, biscuits... and not many green things. You know, typical French food with a side of duck confit and boeuf sur la cloche.

So if you ever go to France, I encourage you to find its southwestern end. The land with the green, white, and red Union Jack and a language that predates almost any other in Europe (the Basques are genetically distinct from Indo-Europeans and have probably been there for tens of thousands of years) is well worth a visit. You can also do as I did: miss your train to Paris due to an ill-timed (or well-timed?) power outage, and use the opportunity to eat more duck while Basque-ing in the peacefulness of the region. And whatever you do, be sure you eat the cakes, be they gateaux basque, berets basque, or something else. It's hard to go wrong.

A Tale of Two Scandinavian Cities

It occurs to me that over the course of events this spring, I never had the chance to recap my December excursion to Iceland. Now returning from my second Scandinavian adventure - a visit to sunny Sweden, I think it might be fun to compare and contrast the two. So these are the voyages of the starship Dan-erprise.

The trips

I stayed in Iceland over the 4 shortest days of 2013, landing in Reykjavik on a Thursday afternoon (night?) and departing on the subsequent Sunday, just days before Christmas. Half a year later, I found myself on a 5 day excursion to Sweden, made possible by my Varsity dance partner, Alex, and her family, who live outside Stockholm. 

Climate

In considering these adventures, one must not divorce these experiences from the impact of weather. Iceland, located just shy of the Arctic Circle, lived up to its name! Sidewalks covered in sheet ice, winds howling, and snow on the horizon, the freezing temps (and 4 hours of weak pastel sunlight) definitely tempered the international tourist crowd... but definitely not the local warmth! With smiles and open hearts, the locals were quite festive- streets were busy with carolers and holiday shoppers amid the constant crinkle of snow tires crawling down the pavements.

But before you think that Scandinavia is always so frigid - the stuff stereotypes are made of - let me tell you about the summer in Stockholm. We baked. It was upwards of 35C/96F the first few days, so we were 'forced' to spend a day swimming and lounging in the sun. Alex's family have a gorgeous lakefront home with dock - as you do if you live in Sweden - so the sunny vista was idyllic verging on toasty. Why so warm? Well Stockholm lays just south (though far east) of Reykjavik, so the same darkness that envelopes the land and sea in the winter yields to abundant protracted sunshine in the summer. A month past midsummer, the sun rose by 4:00 and set around 22:00.

City and surroundings

Of any major city I have ever been to, I have to say that Stockholm is the prettiest, perhaps with Reykjavik or San Francisco in second. Stockholm area was marked with coniferous and birch forests, mounds of rock tranquilly jutting out of dark blue waterways, not unlike Maine's maritime environment. If not for the size of the city, you could have told me I was on Mount Desert Island and I would have happily concurred. Stockholm itself consists of seven islands, connected by both boats and bridges. The buildings - particularly in Gamla Stan (old town) - feature mustard yellow or salmon. Simple stonework flourishes or simple dark wooden shutters frame the windows to provide subtle architectural interest. If one takes a boat tour (like we did), one can quickly get out of the city to explore an archipelago with more nooks and crannies than an English muffin. The archipelago consists of over 30,000 islands and more exploring than we could manage on our 3 hour tour, but I am proud to say that we didn't pull a Gilligan's Island! Our tour boat puttered around some of the islands, revealing plenty of (Swedish) holiday goers sunbathing on rocks and docks jutting out from evergreen-masked coastlines. Wooden homes of a deep red hue peeked out from within the the evergreens; the red pigment is apparently produced in northern Sweden, making it ubiquitous for buildings across the country.

Inasmuch as Sweden's deep blue waterways, rocky coast, and forested countryside remind me of Maine, Iceland's terrain reminded me of the moon. As my plane approached the frozen island in the cloudy post-daytime dusk (twilight is too generous a word), I watched ice chunks bob silently in the slate-grey Atlantic. Then off in the distance, I became aware of a black line stretching infinitely across the water with a lighter shade of slate-grey on the other side. At some point off in the distance, the slate grey of the water, the slate grey of the land, and the grey of the clouds all merged into one. Alas, as we flew over the black sand beach, I realised that the grey landscape was entirely devoid of trees; rough lava fields clothed only by a feeble layer of snow. 

Perhaps one may question the beauty of a lanscape baring only 5% tree cover, but I assure you that it was absolutely stunning. Reykjavik lays in a gentle harbour, with a snow capped peak just across the water. And while the landscape in its own right was beautiful, it was magnified by the hiemal daylight. Twilight gave way to gentle pinks and oranges, evolving further into the gentle pastels of sunrise over the course of hours. If you consider a barren plain of black lava and pristine white snow, contrasted with the splendour of such timid blues, pinks, and oranges, you can imagine the scene. Interestingly, when the sun is only given 4 hours to do its magic, it skips 'daytime' altogether and progresses directly from feeble sunrise to fiery sunset. Bright blue Swedish skies and golden sunshine were far out of the question in winter solstice Iceland. 

So how can one improve on such glorious daylight? By viewing natural wonders such as the (frozen) Gullfoss waterfall and the continental divide located at Pingvellir National Park. The former was a two tiered waterfall of 500 feet total. The middle level formed a stunning triangular table upon which the water raged between its first and second fall. Pingvellir was a wide valley with a natural wall on each side used as Iceland's first parliament over 1000 years ago. On the western edge below the wall, one crosses several fissures revealing crystal clear turquoise water. On the west: North America. On the east: Europe. Each fissure-and the western wall itself- resemble hard packed soil freshly churned up by a garden hoe. Both were remarkable examples of Iceland being at the heart of a dynamic earth.

The Food

In the land of ice and fire, the food is good, but relatively straightforward. The Icelandic lamb is particularly succulent and all manner of high-quality seafood is available for those who seek it. Per a recommendation, I found myself at a dingy harbourfront hole-in-the-wall shack called 'Seabaron's'. Some fishing equipment, memorabilia, and photos are hung from the ceiling and walls and you sit at a basic table on a basic stool next to someone you've never met... or the creepy life-sized wax figure of the late fisherman/founder. That's ambiance. Oh yeah, the food. The meats are sold a la carte from trays in an open faced refrigerator. You pick out your steak or fillet and the host rushes it back into the kitchen to be prepared. On my first visit, I went for the minke whale steak. This dark brown meat was prepared in a simple steak seasoning. It had the stringy texture of pork with the colour and taste of beef. I found it delicious (as I find most foods) and I would have it again. On another visit I had a whole white fish, though now I forget which... I was too busy talking to a couple from Mexico/Australia... and the wax figurine! Next time, I'll have to try the lobster bisque, which is supposedly sublime.

A special treat I had the chance to sample was Malt og Appelsin. It only comes out at Christmas time, but it's a mixture of stout and orange juice. I know that doesn't sound particularly enjoyable, but it's actually amazing. I wonder if it can be homemade...

If you really want to eat a variety of local foods, you should head to Sweden. If you've ever tried Ikea's Swedish meatballs, you've only sampled the tip of Sweden's culinary iceberg. To cut to the chase, the meatballs (i.e. 'French onion soup' in the US : 'Onion soup' in France :: 'Swedish meatballs' and 'Swedish fish' in the US : meatballs and fish in Sweden) are legitimately delicious and I will find a recipe to make them the rest of my life. But the land that produced the smörgåsbord is also responsible for a variety of other treats. 

On the savoury side, I was particularly excited to be treated to a salmon dinner on the first night. All the fish is really fresh, and this salmon before salmon meal was no exception. The starter was gravad lax, which is essentially salt and dill cured raw salmon, served with a slice of lemon over toast. We moved from there onto two of the largest salmon fillets I have ever sunk my teeth into, home smoked with cajun spice or sweet chili sauce. Putting the salmon on a plate next to mimosa salad and dill & potato salad (they eat a lot of dill in Sweden), I was a very happy camper!

On another day, Alex and I ended up in a market in Östermalm, another part of Stockholm that is a bit more upscale. We couldn't resist the coconut chocolate dipped strawberries for 20 Kronur each (1.60 GBP/2.20 USD... Stockholm's expensive) and we wandered to a few of the vendors to see the selection of cheeses and meats. I was fortunate to get a taste of two of Sweden's staples, Vasterbotten cheese (named for a town) and Falukorb (named for who knows what), a sausage with the colour and consistency of posh bologna. Apparently the cheese - which has the taste of freshly sliced Parmesan - is commonly baked into a so-called Vasterbotten paj (appropriately pronounced 'pie'). The paj is for next visit!

 

So, what do you do with all the leftovers following a huge meal? Easy. Pyttipanna. A hodge podge of finely cubed potato, meats, onion, and spices, chucked into a pan and brought to temperature. It's so popular, however, that many people don't even wait for leftovers; they simply buy it fresh or frozen from the grocery store. Often it's served with beetroot slices and a fried egg on top - soul food as they'd say in the American south. 

As a side note, the Swede's are also known for their use of kantarellen - or chantrelle mushrooms - which grow in the wild and are a delicacy. I enjoyed them sauteed on toast!

Whew... past the savoury foods, I can get on to the main event: sweets. All Swedes observe a daily tradition known as fika. Fika is like tea time or coffee break, but it often involves soft drinks, juices, or water and it always involves pastries. Morning or afternoon, I found it to be best enjoyed out in the sun, though I assume the fun moves indoors come wintertime. Let it be known that I'm perfectly ok with a culture that promotes sitting down for pastries on a daily basis. Such things I tried during fika included kamelbelle (cinnamon/cardamom buns), hallon paj (raspberry pie... but more like a British Bakewell tart than a pie?), and a marzariner... albeit an apparently imposter version, according to Alex. The hallon paj was probably my favourite because of the choice of fruit, but I really enjoyed the kamelbelle, which were not sugary, but packed with cinnamon flavour!

Ok, so let's talk cakes. You've got your hallon paj, your ostkaka, your prinsesstårta, and your kladdkaka. Something for every occasion from fika to birthday parties. Ostkaka literally means 'cheese cake', although it would be inappropriate to say it was 'cheesecake'. (For any linguists out there familiar with the German ost meaning 'east', don't be confused. The Swedish for east is Öst,  so Östkaka would mean 'East cake'... which I'm pretty sure isn't even a real thing. I digress.) To me, ostkaka has the consistency of a light quiche, dense and springy, though sort of lumpy. Its taste is much lighter though. It has an extremely subtle cream cheese flavour laced with the suggestion of almonds. To bring some sugar into the fold, this traditional cake is served with berries and jams, particularly cloudberry jam, bilberries, and lingonberries (/jam)... see below. Prinsesstårta is a sponge layer cake consisting of cream and jam layers. The most important thing to know about it, however, is its lime-green marzipan coating. It serves to hold the cake together look pretty, and let's face it, marzipan is a tasty addition to any cake. Finally is the kladdkaka, because chocolate has to be represented somewhere! Kladdkaka is a brownie-like cake topped with chocolate frosting or sauce, fresh whipped cream, and a scattering of the aforementioned berries. I sampled one that was sort of fudgy, but saw another one that looked much more like a typical chocolate cake. It was the best dessert of the three, but after acclimating to Britain's Victoria Sponge I'm quite happy with any cake!

[Tangent: if you give a mouse a cookie, you end up explaining the whole history of Sweden...]

The berries referenced here are all native to Sweden. Lingonberries somewhat resemble red currants, but have a taste similar to cranberries, apparently a distant cousin. They're quite juicy and tart and are good to eat either as jam or plain. The Swedes eat them with everything (see: meatballs, mash, 'brown sauce', and lingonberry jam). Bilberries are quite similar to the small, tart, wild Maine blueberries (not to be confused with the larger domesticated store-bought variety, or Alex will be angry ;-) ). Cloudberry is an amber coloured raspberry-like fruit that provides a less-tart alternative to lingonberries. 

Ok, so much food! The last dessert is chokoladbollar. More like a treat maybe. A chocolatey, oat-filled, slightly mocha flavoured ball is covered in a layer of chocolate and rolled in dessicated coconut. These are heavenly. If you bake, bake these because they look relatively simple and - as the British say - they're so moreish!

The sights

So I've mentioned the landscape, the food, the weather... and that just leaves the activities. Reykjavik has a population of just 120,000 compared to Stockholm's 900,000, but neither city is exactly a bustling economic/political metropolis. Either way, the walk around town was punctuated by seeking shelter from the heat/cold in a museum. 

In Reykjavik the main landmarks were Hallgrimska - a tall but strangely modern church with a nice view over the city - and the Pearl, a viewing platform atop the city's six geothermal water tanks. One could to to the Phallic museum across the street from my hostel, but I didn't have enough time. Alternatively, on the other side of the pretty city park from my side of town, was the National Museum. Amongst an array of miscellaneous artefacts depicting Iceland's generally peaceful history was an old Thorhammer pendant that was quite cool. Generally, however, the streets were just nice to walk up and down, taking in the architecture and festive spirit. One night I went on a northern lights tour. The moon was full, the stars gleamed, but there was no sign of the aurora. Next time!

 

In light of the stresses of Michaelmas Term, the best way to unwind before heading home for Christmas was by side tripping to the Blue Lagoon. The air temp was a chilly -2C/28F, but the volcano-fed geothermal spa was much more balmy. Pale turquoise water reflected pale blue skies as I eased back in the steamy water with a Skyr smoothie (a popular type of cultured Icelandic yogurt) and silica mud slathered all over. Doesn't that sound fun?! It was a pity I could only spend 90 minutes there before heading to the airport for my flight!

In Stockholm, we also enjoyed walking around the various islands, criss-crossing downtown, and passing pretty government buildings such as parliament and the royal palace. We grabbed soft serve ice cream (the best soft serve I've ever eaten perhaps) in Kungsträdgården ('King's Garden'), a public park sort of on the water. We also checked out the Vasamuseet, a museum for the raised ship Vasa, which sank in 1628, two kilometers into its maiden voyage. The ship is in remarkably good shape for having been underwater for 333 years, with beautiful carpentry all around the ship's exterior. We also spent a lovely evening in Stockholm's theme park, Gröna Lund, attending a weekly Cuban salsa dance. It was great, and so social! What a nice change to the typical choreographed routines we learn in competitive dancesport. 

And as for Swedish side tripping, I also got to see where Alex went to school, in a quaint little village called Sigtuna. It also happens to be the oldest Swedish town, so the decently well-preserved Medieval ruins and Viking rune stones provided historical context to the setting of Alex's high school years. We also had fika at the Tantbrun cafe there, consisting of the hallon paj and lemonade that wasn't lemonade... but something like cranberry juice.. or maybe lingonberry juice? I don't know.

Also, if you're ever in Stockholm and want a bit of local/touristy Viking 'culture', check out the restaurant Aifur. Venison, mead, live folk music, runes, and two-pronged forks are involved. What more need I say? Oh yeah, you should also think of a better clan name than "A clan that just met: the flying squirrels." That's just a bit of advice!

 

Myths and Legends

I don't think there's much to say here. Both Scandinavian countries love their Vikings, their Leif Ericsson, their history... and their Norse Gods. While I won't really touch on the Thor/Loki side of things too much, I did want to mention the Islandic Yule Lads and Swedish trolls. I don't know where they came from, but the Icelandic have 13 yule lads who mark off the days before Christmas. Each day running up to Christmas a different troll makes his appearance, imposing mischief around towns and villages. With names like 'Spoon-Licker', 'Sausage-Swiper', and 'Doorway-Sniffer', I think you can guess what their primary mischief is! Similar to the Icelandic, the Swedes are also quite into trolls. I didn't ascertain whether there was a particular set of trolls or if they just like trolls in general but nonetheless, the trolls are depicted everywhere (along with moose, interestingly enough).

In summary, Scandinavia is a great place. The scenery and landscape is beautiful, matched with beautiful food and beautiful people (in both a literal and figurative sense). The cost of going isn't quite as beautiful, but you get what you pay for (and someone has to pay for their high standard of life). Whichever solstice you chose for your travels, you can be sure there will be things to do and see while you're there. 

Next time, I'm going hiking and camping. Nordic fjords anyone?