A Souvenir from Sweden

The Ritual of Fika

I rarely buy souvenirs when traveling. Every once in a while, I might feel compelled to buy something practical, such as a coffee mug or a magnet. It's fun to have something tangible to remember my travels by, but it has to be useful; otherwise, it loses its luster the moment I return home, and then it quickly becomes clutter in the end.

I expanded my rules on souvenirs a bit after a ten-day trip to Sweden, where I packed more into my suitcase than I usually would and broadened the definition of what a souvenir means to me. It was Sweden, my homeland, and I was determined to bring back something that would remind me of my heritage and Swedish culture. I picked up random items throughout the week that felt Swedish to me and strategically packed them into my carry-on-sized suitcase: small Swedish butter spatulas, a couple of outfits from a thrift store, a green glass bowl, and a box of Swedish pearl sugar. Each item a souvenir in its own right, and each with its own memory of my time in Sweden.

My favorite souvenir was fika. Fika didn’t take up space in my suitcase, because it’s a practice, an experience—and in my opinion, it tops all souvenirs, even the cutest pair of Swedish clogs. Fika is a Swedish ritual of taking a pause during the day to connect with others. It’s a practice of slowing down and spending time with the people you enjoy, often over a cup of coffee and a baked good. I’ve known about fika for a long time, after reading about it in one of those Swedish lifestyle books, and have always admired the concept. I can report from my experience that fika truly is a practice taken seriously in Swedish culture. Fika can be taken anywhere, with any beverage or treat, and at any time of day. It represents the values of Swedish culture – to live in balance, with mindfulness, and in community.

My best memories of the trip took place while taking fika. John and I took fika in the bright spring sun on a park bench with our books in the middle of Stockholm. We took fika in a trendy cafe when the rain kept us indoors. My Swedish family and I took fika in the forest near a lake, setting packages of cookies on wooden planks and pouring hot coffee from a canteen. And then, later, around a plate of warm cinnamon buns straight from the oven, as we talked for hours about our lives and cultures. Even the two-year-old had his fika preferences—a cookie and a sippy cup of milk. We took Fika in a kayak, ate cookies from IKEA containers, and sipped hot tea as we floated in the Baltic Sea. Fika was practiced by everyone everywhere and was as commonplace as Americans driving through Starbucks for coffee on the go.

I require zero convincing to sit and connect with others over coffee and pastries, so naturally, my body knew what to do. In Sweden, my fika of choice was a latte with almond milk and a cinnamon or cardamom bun tightly twisted in knots. There was something provocative about slowly unraveling the dense strands of sweet bread. I wasn’t biting into it whole as I usually would; I was taking my time as if the roll was granting me permission, sending some sort of signal to slow down. I realized I had time. Time to sit and enjoy a treat, to sit in silence, to notice the surroundings of a new city, and to connect with my people. I spend so many of my days back home convincing myself I don’t have time to take thirty minutes to sit and enjoy something as delightful as time and a coffee. It is hardwired in me and most of the American culture to follow through on the things we “should” be doing and to keep grinding away day after day. For obvious reasons, I had more time on vacation, and the truth is, I do have time at home, too. But it’s hard to pause in the middle of the day and connect with others when no one else is stopping. Swedes have a healthy perspective on taking breaks; they view it as a necessity, rather than a sign of weakness or a luxury. Fika feels like a gentle act of rebellion to American culture. To slow down with fika is one way to reclaim authority of my time, energy, and who I wish to connect with.

I’ve taken fika most days since returning home. I make an iced coffee with a splash of milk, and find something sweet in my cabinet. It’s been profound how something as simple as sipping a cup of coffee, enjoying a treat, and taking a moment can bring a sense of joy and anticipation for the latter part of the day.

Some souvenirs are meant to be packed. Some are meant to be embodied.