Reality hit me in the face in Sweden

Already in the days before departure, demarcation lines plagued by gang wars, no-go zones blocked with barricades and Swedish police units fighting hordes of migrants appeared in my mind’s eye. In a rather pathetic phrase from Mr. Ákos Dalcsináló, in “a well-defined segment” of the press, Sweden is practically Mordor itself, and Stockholm is the eye of Sauron engulfed in flames, a Metropolis conceived in sin, where Dániel Bohár clings to János Lázár and fears the migrant caravans. On the other hand, here we are, the Hungarians, who represent normality in the sorosist-globalist-liberal mass that others call the European Union. After all, who would want to leave here, and to a place as dangerous as Stockholm, when we could go to Moscow, for example? It is true that it is difficult to get there these days, especially since – according to Orbán’s communication – pro-war Europe put the power elite there, who also believe in normality, whose critics suspiciously often fall out of windows, and which is waging a war of occupation against a sovereign country, on the index.

Thus, the one-time Hungarian tourist, who has promised a plane trip for his daughter’s birthday, but wants to get away cheaply, has no choice but to go to Mordor, the flagship of the Scandinavian welfare model. It’s just icing on the cake that you don’t even need a passport for this sinful region, which is a great temptation to set off, but in the end – as we well know – it’s a trap. As the saying goes: the road to hell is paved with good intentions. In light of this, however, I have to admit that I am guilty, because halfway between Norrköping and Stockholm I saw the pine forests from the plane – the wild novel landscape that may seem kitsch at first, but in reality radiates complete harmony, which in the light of the rising sun and the blue of the sea blended – I felt that everything fell into place.

Then, leaving the airport, reality hit me in the face. The smoke-free, clean air, the lack of the characteristic smell of wet butts and smoking ashtrays almost struck me as cultured, since I vowed not to indulge in ákos exaggerations in this report, but would rather describe the Swedish and Hungarian life situations with the eternal wisdom , an obvious difference from the very first moment that Vincent Vega lived with in the Canvas novel. This great truth somehow sounds like “the same shit is there as here, but somehow it’s a little different”. For example, the welcome drink – in my experience – in Sweden is not ethyl alcohol dubbed homemade brandy of suspicious origin, but a so-called shot, which is a couple of centiliter non-alcoholic, immune-boosting drink made with a high concentration of fruits and vegetables. It is also striking that the slim fit is particularly fashionable (and seems to be an example to be followed), and the airport express train reaches the city center in 18 (not 15, not 20, but really 18) minutes. It was also striking that the child is really important here, for example everything was free for our little girl except the restaurant meal, including the travel, the hotel room and the various entrance fees.

Of course, it didn’t take long to meet immigrants as well. Our intercity bus was driven by a Muslim with a turban and mustache, women wearing hijabs were eating lunch at the table next to us, and we ran into black Africans in colorful clothes several times. What they had in common was that they seemed to have successfully integrated into Swedish society: they were cheerful, well-groomed, direct and helpful.

In my mind, the shadows of Mordor had by this time been covered by the beneficial gloom of oblivion, so I saw that the time had come to visit the old town of Stockholm, Gamla stan, where an imposing statue commemorates the victory of St. George over the dragon and where, among other things, the Stockholm (royal) palace and the Nobel fee Museum is located. Incidentally, the latter is worth visiting not only because, in addition to great inventions, it also presents the personal belongings of the world’s smartest people – such as Katalin Karikó’s pipette – but also because Alfred Nobel’s patent certificate in Hungarian, which the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy issued for him about dynamite. As I learned from the museum’s historian, Nobel filed about 300 patent applications during his lifetime, which does not mean that he had that many inventions, but that he registered his inventions in every country where he did some kind of business.

Another interesting thing is that during my short stay outside, I also ran into several young people (waiters, cashiers, receptionists) whose ancestry includes Hungarians who emigrated. These young people no longer spoke Hungarian fluently, but they still understood our language and were able to answer in simple sentences. Of course, I know that all this is not enough for the propaganda patriot guys, so I brought them some good news too. They will certainly be pleased to note that

At least in the hotel where I stayed, there were heaps of 4,550-gram Golden Pheasant tomato paste on the dining counter, and when I mentioned this and the Hungarian aspect of it to the receptionist, he only replied: “this is also proof that we work with high-quality products”.

During my stay there for a few days, this is how Sweden was presented to me, and although I know that it is different to see a different culture as a tourist and to live in it on a daily basis as a resident, I dare to say that I have never experienced so much kindness and so much calmness anywhere. here, even though I have already visited a few countries in my life.