Places that Fit and Places that Don’t

Sometimes a place fits. And sometimes it doesn’t. But you never really know for sure until you try it on.

Countries are, apparently, a lot like shoes. Sometimes they’re cute and loved by everyone you know, yet when you give them a go, you find yourself just a bit uncomfortable in them. Other times they can seem pretty average on first glance, but before you know it they’re the only ones for you and you can’t believe you ever found them anything but amazing.

I’ve had both experiences. I love Greece. I love the beauty of the islands. I love the spirit of the people. I even came to embrace the chaos. But as much as I long to go back there—to stuff gyros into my face all day long, to sit for hours at a cafe in the heart of Athen’s messiness, to hop the next ferry to whatever island—Greece doesn’t really fit me. We’re not opposites that attract in a pleasant, lifelong way. We’re opposites that find each other startlingly attractive, rush into a crazy affair, and then crash and burn in a fiery display. We never live up to each others’ expectations. We’re both forever trying to change the other. We are star-crossed.

Germany, I also love. It’s not nearly as showy as Greece, not as striking in its beauty, not as tempting in its offerings. It’s the land of fairy tales…but the Grimm brother versions, not the Disney versions. When you tell people you’re going to Germany, you don’t get the same sighs of longing as you get when you say you’re going to Greece. But Germany, well, it gets me. It’s solid and reliable. I know what to expect from it, I know how to behave with it. And every so often, it surprises me with some small delight, nothing big, nothing flashy for sure, but just a little something to keep me satisfied. I could grow old with Germany.

Yes, yes, I know…shoes, romantic partners…I’m mixing all kinds of metaphors in here. So I guess I’ll just go ahead and get to my point, which is that Sweden fits me.

From the moment I’ve arrived—and I commented on this to Jeff after my first day here—it’s felt surprisingly normal. It’s as if I’ve been here before (which, indeed, I have but it was for just a quick couple of days of being a tourist). I slipped in easily, a strange kind of familiarity surrounding me. Perhaps it’s the fact that our apartment reminds me of my dorm room in Germany. Or maybe it’s because in its weather patterns and its location on the water it feels like Seattle, which I’ve gotten used to over the past years. Or maybe it’s because I can recognize enough of the language, thanks to the similarities with German, to know what everything is at the grocery store, to read menus and store signs, to check bus schedules, to apologize to someone for not speaking the language when they assume that I can. I’m sure it’s a combination of factors, but the fact is that Sweden just works for me. I feel at home walking its streets, stopping in its cafes, shopping in its stores, and just moving through the simple ordinary acts of living. It’s a place that I’d feel comfortable adding to my “List of Places I can Live When Hell Truly Freezes Over and John McCain Wins the Election.” (Although I think I’d have to run off and have a torrid affair with Greece every winter…but, really, I think that wouldn’t be so terrible.)

Anyhow, what about you? What places feel like a natural fit to you and what places never fit right no matter how hard you try to make them? What countries would be on your own personal version of the hell freezing over list?

Moja (pronounced Muya)

As Theresa alluded to in the last post, the first island we went to was Moja. It also happened to be the largest, furthest away from Stockholm, and most populated island we went to (though certainly not any of the above for the entire Swedish archipelago). It was a combination of these three things that made it my favorite of the trio of islands we visited.

The island was large enough to contain three freshwater lakes, which were advertised to us as “warm, you can swim for at least 10-15 minutes in it” a notion we found laughable after touching the water with our hands. But what appealed to me most was the sense that this was a small community. In fact, it was many small communities, with collections of 20-30 houses in villages dotting the island. There were no roads to some, only a path through the woods to a different harbor, a different jetty. Where there were gravel roads, ATVs or bicycles were the vehicles of choice, we saw only two cars and our host at the hostel lamented they were becoming more common.

Around 300 people lived there year round; there was a school (up to the 9th grade). A local youth group showed movies and hosted dances at the dance hall and and converted their youth center into the hostel that we stayed at. At church that was built in the 17th century on the south end of the island, the cemetery contained the graves of several generations of Moja residents.

While fishing was once a primary industry in the archipelago (and likely for many of those whose graves we passed), today, only one man makes his living fishing professionally out of the whole of 30,000 islands. He lives on Moja and his family runs Wikstroms Fisk restuarant. The menu changes every day based upon what Mr. Wikstrom is able to catch. We dined there and while simply prepared, the fish was delicious, fresh as can be.

All of these things really culminated in a very pleasant experience. The rain and the dreary conditions even seemed to add to the atmosphere, the idea that islands like this are supposed to have weather like this. All in all, I’m glad we spent the most time on Moja as it really had the most to offer.

Boat Hiking in the Stockholm Archipelago

Jutting up from the waters of the Baltic, off the coast of Stockholm, are more than 30,000 islands, rocks, and skerries. Collectively these two-billion-old rock formations make up the archipelago, a favorite holiday retreat of Swedes. Only a few hearty, independent, and ultimately extremely flexible souls live on these islands year-round—many populations number in the tens, populations that reach into the hundreds are rare—but in the summer, mainland residents flock to the archipelago to bathe in the always cold waters of the Baltic, take a dip in slightly warmer inland lakes, sail from isle to isle, and generally just relax in a place where the pace of life is slow and all the extraneous details of modern life are eliminated.

We missed summer by a few weeks (though we’ve heard summer was a bit disappointing this year), so we arrived to islands that were transitioning toward the sleepy time of year, when the sea freezes over with ice thick enough to ski and skate across and darkness hangs like a veil. That summer was ending was undeniable. The bright blue seas and skies that appear in brochure photos were already a memory. Instead periwinkle painted over the landscape—the sky, the sea, and the granite rocks were all a shade of purplish-gray. The sun was tucked away under thick clouds. And for two of the three days, a steady mist fell, crescendoing into heavy rain for brief stretches before lapsing back into a sprinkle.

It was enough to make the other guests at our hostel stay inside. But us? Well we’re not sweet enough to melt.

And we had some hiking to do.

Apparently the 400+ miles we hiked this summer didn’t satiate us. When we read about something called boat hiking we knew that’s what we’d be doing in the archipelago. For 340 SEK (under $60), we got a pass that was good for 5 days (though we only used it for 3) that allowed us to hop whichever boats we liked between various islands. It also came with a map and suggested itineraries that laid out how one could arrive at an island, hike across or around it, then leave the island either via row boat or ferry to continue on to another island. Three major routes were outlined—northern, middle, and southern. We chose the middle because not only did it seem most interesting to us, but it also minimized the amount of time we would spend on the ferry. The route itself is rather extensive, so we picked and chose from it, deciding on four islands: Moja, Ingmarso, Finnhamn, and Gallno.

On Ingmarso and Finnhamn, which we visited on day two, we experienced the truest form of boat hiking. Around 2 p.m., our ferry pulled into the jetty of South Ingmarso, and we disembarked. Our goal for the afternoon was to walk just over three kilometers along the southern part of Ingmarso, row ourselves across the sea from Ingmarso to nearby Finnhamn, and then continue hiking a few more kilometers across Finnhamn to a hostel perched above the sea.

But first we needed a map, so we popped in the restaurant at the jetty (one of the few places in the archipelago open on a Sunday afternoon in the low season), where a kind waitress photocopied one for us and sent us on our way. We began by walking through a predominantly pine forest, where mushrooms sprung from the ground and were hunted like treasure by multiple mushroom pickers we passed. I kept half expecting a tomte (a mythical creature from Scandinavian folklore that strongly resembles the Travelocity gnome) to pop out and greet us, but alas that didn’t happen.

As we continued along the boat hiker’s trail, I took to calling it the “Jesus path” because of the small signs marking the way that seemed to show a person walking on water.

After a bit of forest hiking, we emerged alongside a field where two horses grazed idly.

We then entered into a field, following a trampled path through a meadow full of rams. In Sweden, allemansratten—the right of public access—entitles you to cross privately owned land so long as you are respectful (and don’t let the rams out). Apparently, the rams here not only are unfazed by strangers entering their grazing grounds but also rather enjoy it. It seems other hikers must feed the rams as they pass through, because instead of scattering away from us, they flocked to us sniffing at our pockets and our bags. Being not much of an animal person, I have to say I didn’t like it much, as I was just waiting for one of them to rear up and show us what those horns are for.

Nearing the end of Ingmarso, we took a break at a nature preserve, where a small boat house was painted the typical burgundy-red of most every building in the archipelago.

Upon reaching the tip of Ingmarso, we loaded our gear into a small row boat, and Jeff rowed us across to Finnhamn. While I sat with the gear, he then rowed back to Ingmarso, towing the row boat that had been on the other side, so that each island has one boat and people are able to cross regardless of which direction they’re coming from. It’s a remarkable system that impressed both of us, not simply because of how well it worked but because of how it is possible to just leave a boat tied up under no one’s guard and know that it will not be stolen or vandalized. I’m not sure that would happen in the U.S.

Once Jeff made it back to Ingmarso, we set off hiking again, through a mixed forest of pine and aspen.

Arriving at the hostel at 5 p.m., we grabbed the keys to our cute little private cabin, and then enjoyed the view. We could have complained about the lack of blue skies, but why bother. It was beautiful nonetheless.

(Check back later in the week, as we’ll post more pictures and stories from our other two days in the archipelago.)

My Own Martin Luther

Currently, Jeff and I are out enjoying Sweden’s archipelago, visiting three tiny islands in a matter of three days. (You know us, we can’t stay in one place for too long.) We’re hoping to come back with good stories and great photos, but we didn’t want to leave you high and dry while we’re gone. What’s a Sunday evening without a Lives of Wander post?

So here are a few nice photos of Jeff nailing his thesis, which he did on Friday afternoon, thereby taking the last step before his actual defense on September 26. He didn’t challenge the pope or rail on about indulgences in his “Recessive Parkinsonism, Mitochondria, and Translational Regulation,” but he looked just a bit Martin Luther-like as he hammered his thesis up in the library of Karolinska Institute. I’m not sure this particular thesis will have quite the world-changing effect of good ol’ Martin Luther’s, but hey, Luther was nearly 34 when he nailed his famous 95-Thesis to the door of Wittenburg’s Castle Church, so just give Jeff seven years. Then, look out world.

Starting out with a smile

He started out nailing it gently with a smile, and then started whacking the heck out of it, as you can see by the hammer action and the concentrated look on his face.

Showing off the final work with his mentor Lars to his right and me on his left.

We celebrate the fact that his thesis is now nailed to the library wall with a little bubbly.

Most of Jeff’s lab came out to support him (or at least to partake in the free food and drink).

My New Favorite Restaurant In Stockholm

Thanks for all the voting so far … keep em coming, we need to know, Riga or Tallinn?

As many of you know, and as many of you don’t know, today was my birthday. I’m finally the same age as Theresa again (for another six months) and, well, that’s about all the benefits I see about being a year older any more. In years past it was driving, then voting, then drinking, then … renting a car. No longer, nothing more gained but another tick off the clock. But today was quite a special day for another reason.

Its official! I wrote a book! Now I nail it to the wall tomorrow (ala Martin Luther) and then wait three weeks to defend it against all who dare to criticize me =). The process is almost complete!

The best part of my birthday though, was our dinner this evening. We headed to Kungsholmen, a restaurant I had heard about as being very unique, lively and delicious. The voices that told me this were certainly right.

Kungsholmen has seven different “bars” – really cooking stations set up on the sides of the restaurant. Each one contributes six elements to the menu, and they vary widely. There is a sushi bar, a salad bar, a soup bar, a bread bar, a grill bar, a bistro bar, an ice cream bar and a cocktail bar. I ordered the Moroccan lamb chops off the grill menu while Theresa ordered the tuna burger with wasabi sauce off the bread menu. Both of our meals were absolutely delicious, my chops perfectly spicy with sides of fried mashed potatoes and yogurt covered cucumbers and Theresa’s tuna lightly seared aside an open faced burger and an almost guacamole-ish wasabi sauce.

The atmosphere itself was also something to behold as the waiters and waitresses shuttled between these various bars while still maintaining an eye on their customers – truly an impressive feat.

Yet at the same time, it wasn’t like a lot of restaurants where they go for the busy vibe but you can’t even hear yourself think. It was an active environment that you could still have a cozy conversation in – a rare balance.

Anyway, you may be able to tell from my comments that I left the restaurant duly impressed. It certainly is not the cheapest place in town, but if you find yourself in Stockholm, check it out. What other restaurants out there have you been to that have impressed you equally well? Bonus points for bargains!

Face-Off #4: Tallinn vs. Riga

On my last trip to Sweden, way back in 2004, Jeff and I took an overnight ferry from Stockholm to Helsinki. The boats leave in the evening and travel through the night. You get a cabin (we had a tiny one with bunk beds), and there is entertainment on board (movies, casino, performers) as well as food (casual restaurants, nicer restaurants, and a traditional Swedish smorgasbord). You arrive at your destination in the morning, disembark, and have an entire day to explore before reboarding the boat in the evening and returning to Stockholm. It’s a fun excursion that provides you with a taste of a place in a novel way without costing too much.

We’d like to take one of these trips again while we’re here, but we’re having trouble deciding where to go. Although we enjoyed Helsinki, we don’t want to go back, so we’re left with two options: Tallin, Estonia; or Riga, Latvia. Jeff’s actually been to both; he took the boat to Tallinn, and he had a day-long flight layover in Riga. I, on the other hand, have been to neither, and must admit that I know very little about either.

So help us out and vote for which one we should visit in the poll at the end of this post. Here’s a little background info on both.

Tallinn, Estonia: Occupied by Soviet forces in World War II, Estonia became a part of the Soviet Union, not regaining its independence (which it had first secured from earlier occupiers in 1920) until 1991. Tallin is the capital city, and its Old Town was named a UNESCO World Heritage site in 1997. The main attraction would be wandering the cobblestone streets and exploring the gothic buildings. We could visit what was the tallest building in the world in the 13th century (not quite a skyscraper) and check out Fat Margaret’s Tower (with a name like that, could we pass it up?). If the weather is nice, we could see it all by bicycle, row ourselves down the Pirita River, or visit the Botanic Gardens.

Riga, Latvia: Like Estonia, Latvia was also occupied by the Soviets, becoming part of their empire until its demise. And capital city Riga, like Tallinn, has also been recognized by the UNESCO World Heritage committee. Specifically, Riga’s Historic Centre has received this award, with its extensive Art Nouveau architecture noted as being unparalleled. Again, the main event here would be walking around and checking out the town. We can climb to the top of the tower at St. Peter’s Church for a 360 degree panorama, check out the Occupation Museum, and visit the largest church in the Baltic.

Do you see our problem? They’re very, very similar. Former Eastern bloc states, well-preserved old towns, easily walkable, etc. Which to choose? Is it cooler to go to Estonia or Latvia? Have you been to either and can offer some kind of insight?

I think we’ll be plenty happy with either. I seriously don’t think it matters which we go to. But we do have to choose one. So vote and make the decision for us. Vote because you actually know something about either of these places. Vote with your eyes closed. Vote because you think Estonia is a better sounding name than Latvia, or vice-versa. Vote because I asked you to.

Please? And Tack.

(That’s “thank you” in Swedish for all you non-Swedish speakers.)

[poll id=8]

Walk On

Put one foot down. Then pick up the other and move it forward. Repeat. Again. Again. Keep your eyes open. Don’t let your eyes linger closed when they blink. It is indeed possible to fall asleep while standing up. But don’t do it. You might fall down. Keep your eyes open. Put one foot down. Now, move the other.

Last night I flew across the Atlantic, tearing through a sky that bled shades of red I have found on no earthly palette, continuing on after the sun dipped into an infinite horizon, the plane now cloaked in black as deep as sin. As morning rose, and clouds appeared as thick as summer cotton, me so desperately wishing I could feel the clouds pass through my fingers, I flew on, touching down in Stockholm as the sun rose on the last Sunday of August 2008.

My mission for the day: stay awake. Do whatever it takes to make it to nighttime without sleeping. Force myself to adopt a new time in a new place.

There is only one way for me to do this, and that is to walk. Walk and walk and walk.

So we walk over a busy bridge and past shops that have not yet opened on this not-quite-summer, not-quite-autumn Sunday morning. We walk past the city library, where people are actually lined up waiting for the doors to welcome them in at noon. We walk through a sprinkle of rain falling from perfectly sunny skies. We walk past churches with glittering gold domes and doors that crack open to reveal snatches of deep organ music. We walk through a playground, where kids giggle contagiously as they jump on mini trampolines built into the ground.

We pause at a kebab shop for a quick lunch, scarfing down a doner, but not sitting one minute beyond the last bite because that one minute could cause me to fail at my mission.

We walk to a tech store and while Jeff buys a broadband network card, I walk laps around the cell phone displays. We walk through a market, me continuing past old army outfits and antique cameras while Jeff stops and buys tomatoes and photographs a fountain whose figures seem to hold their hands in defensive postures, as if trying to protect themselves from the pigeons that use them as perches. We walk past a T.G.I. Friday’s, where waiters in their mandatory flair take orders from diners seated on a patio. We walk toward the undulating sound of Middle Eastern music, and then walk around an Iraqi cultural festival. We walk past details–a lion’s head door knocker on the entrance to a vocational school, a secret staircase tucked neatly in-between two tall buildings, a sculptured security gate displaying jesters and numbers outside a bank.

In a brave moment, we break at a cafe to drink hot chocolate from tall glasses in a comfy corner booth, but we forces ourselves up before the warmth of the drink can settle in my belly and pull my eyelids down like shades.

We walk through the bottom floor of a department store, past displays of delicate pastries and fragile glass. We take a lap around a gallery, where the art is at best an attempted flattery of other, better art. We walk into an auction house, and keeping our hands forcefully in our pockets, we wander amidst those bidding on early twentieth-century furniture and decorative objects that my untrained eye mistakes for junk. We walk into the supermarket and down aisles of cheeses and breads and a surprisingly broad selection of Asian food. We walk home, market bag now full of food, dinner for the next few nights in hand. We walk to Jeff’s lab, and I walk up and down the hallway trying to read Swedish cartoons while Jeff speaks with his mentor. We walk to what is now home–a small studio in a seven-story building. We two-step in the tiny kitchen, and then walk back and forth between the table and the bed as our pasta dinner cooks.

And then, finally, we stop walking. We sit. We eat. We watch the sun set out our windows, the clouds wisps of navy against a turquoise sky, the tall pines nothing more than dark shadows. I have made it. Nighttime is here. My mission is accomplished. I can quit walking. I can now, finally, sleep.

5 Things I Should Not Have Left Behind

Following up on Theresa’s post about useful things abroad, here’s what I’m missing over here. Since we’re here for six weeks in the same apartment, this is obviously a different list than the backpacking standard list. Theresa, don’t forget these things when you come =). So here I am, less than a week into my stay in Stockholm, and already I’m finding many things I wish I had brought with me. Now, this is no disaster, since Theresa is coming this weekend and can save me on some of these things and Sweden is a developed nation and I have been able to purchase everything I needed, but it definitely could have saved me some money.

1. My travel towel – I left this with the RTW stuff and didn’t bring it here, assuming (incorrectly) that linens would be included where we are staying. Lesson learned, always keep this close by … as many of you have already discovered.

2. Umbrella – How silly of me to come to Stockholm without an umbrella. It’s drizzled/rained steadily for three of the five days I’ve been here, and twice I’ve had to lug myself back from the store, soaking myself and my cargo. An umbrella would’ve been useful. And oddly, they did not have them at the store either time.

3. Rug holding mats – This one I don’t think anyone could’ve seen coming, not that we had any to leave behind to start with. There’s a rug on our linoleum floor that flows so easily across the floor, it slips every time I step on it and I almost fall on my ass. Something must be done, but the concept of rug securing pads has apparently not reached Stockholm (even though they have many more linoleum floors covered by rugs), as I have seen no such product anywhere. Maybe the good folks at IKEA have something this weekend. Alternatively, I guess I could just take the rug up for my own safety, but that just makes a starkly bland room even less colorful.

4. Fitted bed sheets – Fitted sheets are just so much better than the flat undersheets common here. We also need our own flat topsheet. Even though I have my sleep sheet to take care of me now, I’m counting on Theresa to bring these over. I’m just accustomed to my American bed stylings and don’t sleep nearly as well otherwise. Jet lag doesn’t help with these things either.

5. Multi-outlet power strip – We have too many electronics! But they all have North American plugs. So we need a multi-outlet power strip to plug into our travel adapter so we can plug in our American gadgets (if this is a bad idea/dangerous, please let me know in the comments!)

One Step Forward

You may have noticed Theresa carrying a disproportionate share of the writing on LOW and myself conspicuously absent over the last three weeks. Contrary to what you may be thinking, this was not due to Theresa locking me up in the basement and not letting me out. Instead, I was sitting in the dungeon at work, furiously working away at the microscope. Then I was furiously typing away at my last two manuscripts. My life has consisted of work, work, eat, work, hike, work and sleep in the few extra hours.

But I am happy to announce that I have completed my thesis application (as opposed to the actual thesis … there’s still a long way to go, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves). This includes drafts of all the papers I plan to include in my thesis, my ethical permits and committee members, and date and place of defense. Very thorough. I sent it to my mentor in Sweden today, and then we went out for a few beers and a delicious Five Guys hamburger with far too many fries. Best burgers around – they’re a delicious local DC chain that is now expanding fast, so look for one near you. And I didn’t even get a free burger for that plug.

Anyway, back on topic, after Lars gets the requisite signatures, it will be sent to the committee to render a decision on whether I will be defending in September. So this and the next couple of weeks are an important checkpoint on our current timetable, here’s to hoping the Swedes like what they read in my application and we get the green light for my defense and thus our subsequent journey.

P.S. All of this work is also why I’m not as far on our budget planning as I would like to be, but don’t worry, the follow up to my Straw Poll will be coming up soon.

Vad handde i Lappland (Part 3)

Wednesday morning I took the bus back to Kiruna, checked back into my hospital, and hopped on a bus over to Jukkasjarvi, home to the famous Ice Hotel. The outside was less impressive than I would’ve thought. I guess I was expecting to see a gigantic ice city rising out of the river. Those were probably unrealistic expectations. Instead, it was a gigantic ice city with a regular set of support buildings completely surrounding it. Not as dramatic an appearance.


But the inside was far more impressive than I ever imagined. I’ll just let the pictures speak for themselves.




The rooms were amazing (each of these photos, save the last one, is an art suite). The central hall in the last photo was an endless hallway of ice sculptures. The next highlight was the Absolut Icebar, also in the hotel. I had to check it out and have a drink. I can’t remember what they called my drink, but it was Absolut with Lingonberry Juice. Quite tasty, a delicious color, and drinking out of an ice glass makes all the difference.


And while it was all so cool, I couldn’t find any reason to actually stay here. I could just pay an entrance fee during the day and walk through the entire hotel, every room. Then I could go back and sleep in my warm, cozy room. Or I could pay a lot more, have to deal with other people walking through my room all day, and then freeze all night. It just doesn’t add up. But I’m glad enough people want to do it that they can building them, because it is truly a sight worth seeing.

Here’s where I maybe got a little crazy. I decided to walk to the airport the next morning, about 5 miles, for my flight leaving at 6:50 AM. Given the circumstances, it was a little nuts, but the reasons were two fold:

1) I still hadn’t seen any northern lights and this was my absolute last shot.

2) A 5 mile taxi ride would’ve cost me ~$60. I don’t know any where in the world that is that expensive. London maybe?

Anyway, after staying awake until midnight looking in vain out both sides of the building to the sky for any signs of green or red, I arose at 3:30 AM, donned four layers and my backpack, and headed out into the cold. While I was immediately hopeful about the faint light to the east, I quickly realized it was the earliest hints of the sun. I was already out of luck, no northern lights. The biggest goal of my trip was a bust. So sorry guys, no northern lights pictures out of me. But to quell the uprising, here’s some.

So there was nothing to do now but just keep walking, I was already up with time to get to the airport and I sure wasn’t paying the $60 for now a 4 mile ride. I guess I’m just stubborn like that. It actually wasn’t a bad walk at all, it wasn’t too cold (though I think my four layers of clothing had a lot to do with that) and I got to see a gorgeous sunrise. There were three things I found funny on my walk:

1) I actually passed a guy about halfway there in the middle of nowhere. And he just walked by, as if he saw crazy foreigners with backpacks walking out of town every day at 4 AM. My “hej” wasn’t even answered.

2) The last two kilometers were along the airport access road, that only went to the airport. Even so, no one stopped to offer a ride. I hadn’t expected anyone to, and at that point in my odyssey, I probably would’ve turned them down, but I did find the whole thing kind of funny.

3) This awesome sign at the airport. It tells you where to park your dogsleds.


So with that, my trip came to an end. To do a quick “Take Two” type recap:

Highlights: dogsledding, Ice Hotel

Lowlights: no northern lights

Lessons Learned: hospitals can be cheap and nice places to stay, trains can be simpler and cheaper than flights+taxis+hotels (it took me the same amount of time to get to Abisko in the end and it would’ve been cheaper on the train), and northern lights are hard to see