Today I just made a short walk to Marum, near the sea, across frozen swamps, but yesterday we watched the Swedish film “Tillsammans” (Together, 2000) by Lukas Moodysson. It is about a sort of hippie community in the 1970s in Stockholm.

I had seen it years ago when it came out, but I didn’t remember much. In fact, I remembered it more as a comedy, and while it has some humour, it actually is a very sad film in many ways. In any case, it was interesting to re-watch it with Swedish people who could give a few more references that I had missed (about Swedish society, TV shows, songs, locations etc).

It is a film that talks about the difficulties of being together, but also about loneliness and the difficulties of being apart. At one point a character, an old man who grew up in the countryside decades ago, talks about his childhood when he lived with 18 people in the same small house, without even a bathroom (it was outside) and eating mainly only porridge at breakfast, lunch and dinner. “It was a shit life”, he says, “but at least we were together. It’s better to eat porridge together than pork cutlets alone.” (Swedish people, by the way, appear to be great fans of porridge).

It is also a film about the conflict between couples. The other day, as I mentioned, I went walking over a frozen lake with Håkan, a Swedish filmmaker, and we ended up being invited by a family across the lake to have a barbecue with them. “What a nice family”, I thought to myself. But later Håkan said, “Did you notice the conflict between them? And with the teenage daughters too? I think they will divorce as soon as they get back to Stockholm. I guess they invited us just because they couldn’t stand being together with each other. It was a cry for help!”

I admit I was puzzled. To be honest, I hadn’t noticed anything at all. They seemed like a quiet, happy couple to me.

In Latin culture, if there is a couple fighting, colourful insults will fly, and eventually dishes too. But in Scandinavian culture, they may appear to be talking about politics and society in general, or about different types of sausages, but they are really subtly throwing jabs at each other.

The couple we met were called Peter and Katarina, and that, coincidentally, is also the name of a couple in Bergman’s “Scene from a Marriage”, friends of the protagonists, who are constantly bickering. At one point, Peter quotes August Strindberg and says: “Is there anything more terrifying than a husband and wife who hate each other?”

In many Strindberg’s plays, married couples and families are depicted as having hellish relationships. Strindberg himself had three very turbulent marriages, and ended up divorcing all three wives. Ingmar Bergman, who was influenced by Strindberg and quotes him in that movie, was even worse: five failed marriages and several other unsuccessful relationships.

I don’t know if it is related to this difficulty of being together and the distrust of marriage as an institution, but apparently today many Swedish people never officially marry at all. They just live in cohabitation. Almost 60% of children in Sweden are born from unmarried parents, which would be considered “out of wedlock” not long ago.

In fact, in order to become a Swedish citizen, I was told that you don’t even need to officially marry a Swedish person: you just have to be living together with one. In order to prove it and to avoid scams, there is supposedly a separate interview with each partner, where they ask questions such as: “Which movie did you watch together last night?” or “What colour are the curtains in your bathroom?”

It seems too easy to be true, but… Swedish citizenship… I don’t know, maybe I will look a bit more into it…

If a tree falls in the forest and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound? If I write a daily report from Sweden but no one reads it, does it even exist?

Walking around the local forest here at Björkö, you will notice several fallen trees, here and there. And today, it was very windy. When I was out walking today, I could hear the trees creaking and I could see their tall tops bending with the wind. I was told that most trees fell years ago, during a huge storm, and that there is no risk of any of them falling right now. Still, it can be a bit unsettling, just the sound of them, and the idea of one of them falling on top of your head. That must hurt.

As for writing: my impression is that social media and the ubiquity of smartphones has been, in general, a negative influence for those who like to read and write. I used to have a blog in the 1990s, and quite a fee people read it; I also used to read a lot of blogs back then. Today, social media has and taken over and people became used to read just very short texts or to click “Like” on pictures. That’s all. Anything that lies outside that very shallow universe doesn’t exist. Even on social media, long texts or opinions who go beyond the current “conventional wisdom” are ignored, when not directly censored. There is no stronger force for conformism than social media. This is not helped at all by the little pop-up messages and links that the social media giants forcibly put on anything you post, especially if it is a political issue or anything related to “vaccines”. It is as if they are telling you what you need to think, and you can’t go beyond that.

But it is what is happening now, and of course smartphones are not ideal for reading or writing — not even for watching movies, which increasingly people do, to the despair of someone like me who grew up watching art films in giant screens in movie theatres.

Enough digressions. Continuing with the daily journal, today I went to Väddö, which is the upper part of the island, and it’s not really much different from Björkö, except perhaps seemingly being a bit more populated. At least I saw more houses, some even with people inside them.

Perhaps what I miss more about this experience here up north is meeting more local Swedish people, to see how they live, what they do, what they eat, and to live more in contact with them, being part of their daily lives. It is not completely isolated out here, and Swedish people appear to be gregarious, if not as much as Spanish or Italians, at least more than the usually more suspicious people in the part of former Eastern Germany where I was before. We were invited once to have a barbecue by some neighbours, even if we were complete strangers, and people always say “Hej” when they cross each other on the road. But in winter there are really not so many people around, so even such instances are rare.

In the 60s and 70s, apparently quite a few Swedish people lived in “hippie villages”, following an ideal of communal living and sharing, and even free love and drugs and all that stuff. (The nice Swedish film “Together”, from 2000 but taking place in the 1970s, talks with bittersweet humour about all that, both the good and the bad parts.)

It didn’t quite work, and I can see why, and I don’t see it coming back. While I am not exactly the hippie type, in some ways, I think it is a bit sad that it didn’t work, and having a bigger sense of communal living would not be completely bad.

The process of social isolation and increasing individualism started decades ago, in Sweden as in other parts of the world, but, in the Age of Covid, we seem to be drifting to each time more “social distancing” and distrust of other human beings, who are seen only as “dangerous viral vectors”, instead of as neighbours or friends. But, perhaps, one day we will return to a more normal life. We can dream.

Today the temperature went up, it was sunny and 6 degrees Celsius outside. A lot of the snow around had melted and one could have a better idea of how idyllic this place can look during summer.

I walked with a fellow artists to the coast of Simpnås. I had been there before, but this time instead of going towards the dock and the museum, where I had been, we turned left towards where there is a small natural reserve.

We walked over large rocks by the sea, some still partially covered with ice, but not as much as before. After gazing for a few minutes at the breathtaking view, instead of going back through the road, we returned crossing the forest. It was not always a straight path, but the melted snow had given way to a lush green moss, and it was easier to move around.

One thing that was interesting to notice were the different patterns created by Nature that look almost like abstract works of art — fungi, moss, rock formations, frozen algae; after days when the main colour was just white and grey, now everything seemed to have become more colourful and intense. I can only imagine how this forest must look in spring.

One of the pleasures of traveling is to observe the little differences in the people, in the culture, in the food, but also in nature. Birds, trees, plants, everything changes and it is a pleasure for the eye and the year to see or feel something unusual or new.

The landscapes here tend to be very different from the ones I am used to, and that is always interesting.

As we were leaving the forest and returning towards the village, we saw a couple of slightly creepy Barbie dolls hanging from trees, near a house. A local decoration representing fairies? Maybe, but they had their hair cut in a strange fashion, were hanging in an unnatural position and wore strange little woven clothes. They didn’t seem particularly decorative to me, and believe me, Swedes know how to nicely decorate a place if they want to. Of course, it doesn’t mean that it was some type of local black magic, but I really don’t know what it was. I asked a Swedish friend, and she said this is not a typical Swedish habit.

I am staying in an old house in Björkö that is now an Arts Residence space, with studios and apartments for artists, filmmakers and writers, but which until very recently was an elementary school. (It closed in 2017). And it seems to be an old school, perhaps from the beginning of the century, although I am not sure. The nearby church was built in 1906, so I am guessing it could be from the same period, but it could have been built later — the building doesn’t look terribly old.

However, some on the books that are still on its shelves are quite old. There is an interesting encyclopedia (Nordisk Familje Bok) from 1917, and books to learn handwriting from the 1930s, 1940s and 1950s.

There are two old pianos, or rather, a piano and a pump organ — I didn’t even know they existed, but basically they are organs that need to be pumped with air by the use of pedals. So you need to play the keyboard with your hands and keep pedalling with your feet at the same time; not an easy task. (Here there’s a video explaining a bit how they work.) There are also a few other instruments: xylophone, drums, and an old guitar.

Besides the removal of the desks and blackboards, the space does not seem to have changed much; it still looks and feels like a school, and a lot of the furniture and objects were kept. The shelves with lots of children books in Swedish were certainly kept.

I don’t know about most people, but I really like old books, especially if they are illustrated and in a foreign language.

I didn’t do much today, but I had fun feeding a couple of carrots to a cow and a horse. The cows are Highland cows (a breed originally from Scotland). The horse, I am not sure. It seems to be a type of pony, with shorter legs than a normal horse, and a bit longer hair too. It could be a Swedish Dole Trotter, but I’m no expert in horses. If anyone knows, please tell me.

Or do they just love the new control they found? (Daily rant.)

There is a pandemic going on, but it’s not a respiratory disease. It is a disease that only affects politicians and makes them create insane laws to try to “control a virus” and force an unwanted and inefficient vaccine on every man, woman and child on Earth (and some animals too).

It’s just too depressing.

The latest episodes have been the Quebec governor increasing taxes just for the unvaccinated, the Italians forcing the vaccine on everyone over 50, and the Austrian police checking people’s vaccination status on the streets. Now even Sweden is increasing restrictions against “Omicron” and requiring passes.

Does any of these things help, in any way, our “health”? Do such authoritarian measures “end the pandemic”? Not really. In fact, I am convinced more and more that the pandemic is not that big of a deal, or it wouldn’t be such a big deal if it wasn’t for the increasingly demented laws and restrictions that are created at an increasingly accelerated rhythm. The real pandemic are the crazy measures against the pandemic. This is what is destroying our society, culture, economy and people’s mental health. It’s not the virus. It’s stupid laws to “stop the virus” that don’t really stop it.

If two years ago someone started talking about “vaccine passports” and “lockdowns” you’d think it was a bad dystopian story. But now it is the world we’re living in, and we can’t seem to get out.

Politicians are not our mom, and we’re not children. I know that they like power, but people are not completely stupid and can take care of themselves. Adults can choose whether they want a certain medication or not, without being forced, and they mostly know how to behave in their daily life. I mean, if the government has to tell you to “wash your hands”, in what kind of world are we living?

I just want to go back to life as it was in 2019. I can take of myself, thank you. Now can politicians please just leave me alone?

Many wild animals live in the archipelago of Björko-Arholma. We can see their footprints in the snow all the time, one track crisscrossing another. Once you learn their basic shape, you can identify them: hares, elks, lynxes, deer, foxes, wild boars, otters — and… well, others. However, spotting the actual animals is a bit harder.

I saw a hare crossing the road just as I arrived, but I haven’t seen another one since. And I’ve seen two deer in the distance a few days later, but I couldn’t photograph them: by the time I managed to take off my gloves and grab my camera, they were already long gone. Lynxes, on the other hand, appear to be very, very elusive. Even few locals have seen them around.

At least you can see many types of wild birds if you pay attention: crows, magpies, blackbirds, woodpeckers, and even hawks or eagles. And of course, this being countryside, there are also a few farm animals around.

Today I went out to look for animals. First I saw the long-haired cows that are raised in a farm around here: they’re Highland cows, a breed originally from Scotland, but well adapted to the Nordic cold.

A bit further ahead, a cat appeared. Not really a lynx, but at least a close cousin. He was very friendly and let himself be petted.

A bit further on, I found another farm with horses. They were also very friendly, perhaps too friendly. They were not behind a fence, but roaming free. As I started to take pictures of one of them, they started to come closer, until I suddenly found myself surrounded by horses. They got really close, even a little bit too close for comfort. I don’t really know what they wanted. I suppose they expected a treat, but I didn’t have anything with me. Next time, I will bring carrots or apples.

I kept walking on, following a hawk (or was it an eagle? It had a pretty large wingspan) I immersed myself into the forest, half-expecting to find a lynx, or well, maybe a hare.

The forests here, at least in winter, are almost magical, and incredibly silent. And the further inside you go into them, the less you seem to hear. There’s not even the sound of birds. But you still see many footprints. Where do all the animals go?

I didn’t find a lynx, but I wonder what would I do if I really found one. They do not attack humans, or so I’m told, but they are pretty strong, and they can take down even an elk. I am smaller than an elk, and I am pretty sure that if I got on the bad side of a lynx, he could kill me too. Well, I guess I’ll worry about that when or if I ever see one.

I kept walking, until I reached the coast, down at Marum, where there’s a small natural reserve. There I saw the last animals of the day: wild ducks and swans, placidly floating on the sea as the sun hovered on the horizon. In summer, this is a sandy beach usually filled with people, but right now there was snow covering the sand and no one around.

It was time to go back; I suppose I had seen enough animals for one day.

When you get to my age, you don’t expect to have many great adventures in life anymore, but, on the other hand, even daily activities can become an adventure. Especially if they are done in a different country or in an unusual way.

Today was the day to buy groceries and recycle trash. We were planning to go to the larger supermarket located in Älmsta (about 40 min by bus), but then we got lazy and just went to the smaller one that is 7 km away, or a short 10 minute bus ride.

Since the shelves are filled with quite a few unfamiliar products, or, in many cases, familiar products but with unfamiliar labels, it can be difficult to know exactly what you are buying. This can be a problem for people who are allergic or who have very specific diets, but in my case, it doesn’t matter so much.

I did make a few mistakes. I bought something that I thought was rice but ended up being some type of grain for porridge. I bought a bread that I thought was good for sandwiches, but was actually sweet (I should have realized that “honung” means honey). I bought a carton that I thought was milk, but was actually a type of yoghurt or sour milk (filmjölk). I bought a big pack of cheese that didn’t taste exactly like I expected. But other than that, everything was fine.

The next adventure was recycling the trash; the recycling bins for plastic, metal and glass are located about half a mile away from the house, and since the trash containers were quite big and heavy, we put them on top of round sleds and dragged them through the snow. Recycling here is easier than in Germany: Germans are obsessive about recycling and you have specific containers for green glass, brown glass, white glass, etc. Here, however, it’s just “färgat” (colour) or “ofärgat” (colourless).

And those were today’s awesome adventures. (Next one: laundry?)

We interrupt this travel documentary for a news update

Finally, a bit of good news. Despite not declaring his vaccination status, Serbian tennis player Novak Djokovic was allowed to remain in Australia (although it is not clear yet if he will be allowed to play, or if they will cancel his visa later on).

Germany has delayed its mandatory vaccination program, and it might not be made into law for now. The large protests here appear to have made a difference.

Italy actually has some sort of mandatory vaccination for over 50s, but the fee for non-compliance is relatively low (100 Euro), so I don’t think it will affect much those who really don’t want it.

More importantly, many people are slowly realizing that authoritarian measures such as lockdowns, “vaccine passports” and mask and vaccine mandates not only cause much discontent, and lots of other social and economic problems, but are also pointless to contain the disease, which in the latest variant is much milder anyway, so they might as well be scrapped.

I don’t know if it’s “Omicron”, but I have talked to a few people who had the disease recently — some vaccinated, some not — and all the cases were pretty mild. There was not the same feeling of panic that there was last year; corona may or may not be here to stay, but it’s no longer the scary story it once was.

As winter slowly fades, I’m optimistic that things will be improving also on the bureaucratic front, with stricter measures being quietly removed.

Perhaps the sanest thing that the authorities can do now is, like Bush in Iraq or Biden in Afghanistan, “declare victory” against corona and end all restrictions. I don’t know if it’s going to happen, as authorities have not been acting very sanely for a while, but it no longer feels like this general state of craziness will last forever. And this is good.

But of course, it’s not over until it’s over.

I attended a service at the small local church today. I don’t go so often to church these days, and in fact, I hadn’t attended mass in more than a year, but today the local small church, which is almost next door, announced through a sign that it was open and there would be a service (I was raised Catholic, but this is a Protestant church and I don’t think they call it “mass”). So I went.

It turned out I was the only person there. Besides the pastor, the organist, and the two church assistants (one male, one female), there was no one else. I don’t know if it was because of Covid, because there are not many people here in Winter anyway, or simply because people in general do not go to church so often anymore — but there was really no one else.

So it was basically a private service, just for me. It reminded me of the end of Bergman’s movie “Winter Light”, which features the pastor giving a sermon to an empty church, perhaps a somewhat similar church to the one here.

I can’t speak about the sermon, as I don’t understand Swedish, but the music was very beautiful — in fact, there was more music than anything else, as the sermon itself and the readings were quite short. Some of the music was played on the organ upstairs, some on the piano next to the altar, and all hymns were sung by the organist together with the assistants. Usually they are also sung by the people attending, but today it was just me and I can’t speak Swedish. Also, I can’t really sing. But Swedish religious hymns are quite beautiful; I remember having a CD of traditional Swedish hymns once.

Protestant churches don’t have the Eucharist or Holy Communion, which is strange for me; it feels like a breakfast without coffee, or like a meal without its main course, if you pardon the bad analogy. Still, it was an interesting experience.

After it ended, I talked a little while to the priest and the church assistant; they were very kind and explained that in summer things are a bit more lively; in winter they offer services only occasionally, not even every Sunday. They also explained to me the origins of the colourful painting on the altar and the ceiling, which represents a ship captain guiding his ship during a storm, some fishermen watching on the shore, and Jesus Christ hovering over the ship or perhaps walking on the water.

The church was built in 1905 or 1906, but the painting was made in 1950, using local people as models for the characters. The church assistant told me that once, in a summer a few years ago, as they were ending the celebration of the service, an old man came up to the altar and said, “I am Jesus!” Everybody attending looked at him with alarm, thinking of course that he was a lunatic. But the old man then explained that he was actually the original model for the “Jesus” in the painting.

Another interesting thing in this church is a very detailed “votive ship”: a miniature model ship hanging from the ceiling. This type of decoration is very common in Scandinavian churches, a reminder of their long history of seafaring. Many women would come to the church to pray for their husbands who were sailors or fishermen, so that they did not perish in shipwrecks and came safely back home.

I don’t know about the particular model ship present in this church, but traditionally they were created by ship builders or by sailors and donated to the churches as a gift.

While there are not many people during the winter in this island, and religious attendance in Europe has been decreasing for many years, I suppose Covid has not helped church attendance very much… In many European countries now, due to the current governmental rules, many churches are required to ask for a test or a “vaccine passport” to all congregants, as well as the use of masks during mass. In many ways, it is a pity. Faith is of course a question of personal belief, and church mass or service is not necessarily needed for that, but I think the role churches used to play, especially in smaller communities like the one here, was really being an active part in the life of local people celebrating their most important events: baptisms, weddings, funerals. Churches were really a place for socialization, for community building.

As people retreat more and more indoors or in front of computer screens, this social role is increasingly disappearing, and with Covid, it might even disappear completely.