Life is a Smorgasbord

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“So, will you two ever move here?” That was the question on everyone’s mind when my wife, Cilla, and I visited her family in Sweden last Christmas.

“Yes. Probably. Someday,” we answered.

Cilla and I met while studying in Chile, one week shy of graduation. We spent much of the next eight months traveling together around Cuba, Brazil, and Scandinavia before coming to live in Minneapolis. We’ve always assumed that someday we’d live in Sweden for a while.

I’ve always admired the strong communitarian ethic that is the basis of Sweden’s political system. A decade of tough economic times has forced the government to begin dismantling some parts of the country’s fabled welfare state, but most of Sweden’s social democratic policies remain firmly in place: nearly free university education, universal health care, strong unemployment benefits, and my favorite, a minimum of five weeks vacation for all full-time workers. The chance to live in a society truly dedicated to promoting economic democracy and social justice is one of the great attractions Sweden holds for me. By the time we came home, however, Cilla found herself feeling far less excited by the idea of moving back to Sweden than she had been before.

“After a month in Sweden, you’d feel like you were in prison,” she warned me.

Don’t get me wrong. Cilla loves her homeland. But she is not a typical Swede. “From the time I was little, my mother always predicted that I’d leave Sweden one day,” she tells me. “She said that Sweden was too small for me.”

What is it about Sweden that would make Cilla feel claustrophobic, and attract me so strongly? There are many differences between my homeland and hers, but the biggest centers on issues of freedom and choice.

Swedes tend to exercise their freedom of choice in different ways than Americans, emphasizing quality over quantity or diversity. For example, Sweden produces only two kinds of cars, but they’re the ultra-reliable Saab and Volvo. Every bathroom in Sweden, it seems, has one of two toilets, water-conserving low-flush models made by Ifö or Gustafsberg, in white or off-white. Few people have cable TV, but the five broadcast networks are known for their high-quality programming. The national liquor monopoly, known affectionately as “The System,” is only open till 6 p.m. on weekdays and 2 p.m. on Saturday, but its wine selection is second to none. I mean that literally. The System is the world’s single largest wine buyer, and is therefore able to negotiate excellent deals on great wines. Plus, all the clerks have extensive training and are very knowledgeable about wine. And if the bottle you want is out of stock at the local store, they’ll find it in another store and have it for you the next day. Cilla lived in London for a short time in the early ’90s and says that “there was a liquor store on every corner, but you couldn’t find a decent bottle of wine.” Despite their grumbling about the limited hours and high liquor taxes, Swedes are proud of The System. Waiting in line at The System on a Friday afternoon is a shared national ritual.

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