The cold wind hits hard as we descend the steps from one of Ryanair’s winged beasts. This is bitter. We’ve left a London where every paper carries the headline ‘The Big Chill is here’ and ‘A Siberian Snow to Stay’, but I realise very quickly that London hasn’t got a clue; we Londoners clearly know nothing – this here is the big chill. This is lethal, at minus sixteen, the weather could quickly kill. We struggle into the airport and make it through customs and onto a waiting bus – we’re sixty miles from Stockholm and our adventure is only just beginning.
This is my first visit to Stockholm and Sweden is a mysterious land in my mind’s eye. It is a land of snow, saunas and blonde-haired maidens; of blockbusting crime novels and relative economic stability. Geographically-speaking, Sweden is the third largest country in the European Union, but it has a tiny population of nine million, eight-five per cent of whom live in the urban areas of the south. The population density is very low, twenty one people per sq. km nationally, but in the rural north, that figure drops to around one person per sq. km of land. As we drive through the rural south from Skavsta Airport toward the capital, the stark, empty beauty of the landscape is arresting.
We’ve caught Sweden at its ‘Christmas card’ best – snow-covered pine trees line the roads bordering endless, unspoilt snow drifts that stretch away as far as the eye can see and sparkle in the afternoon sunlight. We drive on and eventually the rural beauty begins to give way to the urban hinterland of the outskirts, which seem as grey and drab as those of any major European city in contrast to the countryside. The sun has died down by now, the snow is falling heavily and dusk approaches. Stockholm is essentially a water locked city, ‘The Venice of the North’ some might say. At this time of the year the lakes and rivers that surround the city are mostly frozen solid and dark figures can be seen skating along in the moonlight. The coach drops us at the central station and from there it’s a slog through frozen streets as snow pounds down – we’re informed on route that this is the coldest day of the winter thus far.
The Lydmar Hotel sits on the seafront on Södre Blasieholmshamnen – Stockholm’s smartest parade of hotels. The Lydmar is slim, stylish and feminine in stature, especially when placed against the staunch behemoth that is the famous Grand Hotel next door. I am immediately drawn to the hotel’s elegance and clean lines; the design seems to focus on a very specific Scandinavian aesthetic, rather than the cloying traditionalism of international luxury styles. The Lydmar is independently-owned and a member of ‘The Small Luxury Hotels of the World’ group. The hotel opened three years ago, but is, in fact, a re-imagining of the ‘original’ Lydmar, which existed in a different part of Stockholm and was known as a venue for all manner of elegant debauchery during the late nineties and early part of the last decade.
Today’s Lydmar is slicker, calmer and more refined – the hedonistic kids have grown up and evolved, they now sit in the bar on MacBooks drinking single malt whisky and fine Burgundies. The hotel is appealing in its lack of focused, branded appeal. There’s no obvious push to bring in a particular type of customer or create a vibe, everything feels very organic and well-timed within these walls. There are 46 rooms and these are generally filled with a mixture of style-conscious business travellers and the more inquisitive Europeans with an eye for quality and a sense of adventure. Rooms are clearly demarcated into small/medium/large/suites, all other distinctions are cosmetic only. We go for a medium and are very pleased with the choice. The room is comfortable, large and stylish and enjoys spectacular views out towards the waterfront. Bathrooms are dark granite and rather sultry – you can choose to have music piped through as you warm up in the tub.
The focal point of the hotel’s energy is the bar/lounge/restaurant/library on the ground floor. Depending on time of the day, the action here changes, but once again, it’s a fluid transition. You’re never left feeling like you’ve moved from one place to another; it’s more of a pleasant sensation that you’d drifted off as the guests are arriving and woken up just as everyone’s got to know one another. Once we’re settled in, warmed up and gently relaxed after a beer in the bar, we decide to head out to explore the Saluhallen östermalmstorg food market. A Swedish sommelier has recommended it as a top tip for those looking away from the ‘New Nordic cuisine’ and hoping to experience the rich traditions of game, fish and the famous mixed plates or Smörgåsbord that Stockholm is famous for.
The Saluhallen market is a marvel – a place that any visitor to this city should explore. I feared the market might have been some scruffy collection of farmers stalls laid out in a snowy square and populated by blue faced tourists, but the Saluhallen is as far from this as you can imagine. It’s a huge, heated indoor arena filled with stalls hewn from pine. Strong names stand prostrate on placards – Johannson, Lindqvist, Husmann – the names of generations of sturdy hunters and gatherers; stand up fellows with loud voices and thick coats. There are butchers selling wild and esoteric treasures; hare, black grouse and the rather terrifying looking capercaillie fill their displays. I invest in some Moose salami that’s been turbo-charged with Aquavit and survey the assorted fish stalls and herring peddlers.
There are all manner of places to eat, we choose a familiar, well-known name Lisa Elmqvist and sit at the bar for cold glasses of Carlsberg and assorted fishy treats: herrings, prawns, eel and crayfish. Everything works on a nutritional level; its fuel, but it’s delicious too. This is food that balances functionality with flavour and triumphs. We leave the food hall rosy cheeked, full and happy (if Carlsberg did fish suppers…). The wind outside is colder than ever, ice gets in our noses, a tear falls down my girlfriend’s face: slowly, ominously, will it freeze? As we trudge through the quiet streets, night is drawing in and the lights of Gamla Stan shine invitingly in the distance, but for now all I can think of is my warm room, my hot bath.
Later, it’s Saturday night and the restaurant at the Lydmar is in full swing. There is a sense that this is a space that is always graced with pretty faces and engaging conversation, but on this freezing Saturday the room absolutely throbs with activity, it’s almost frightening! Bright young things in thick Moncler coats sashay through the doors looking for cocktails, whilst men with enigmatic beards and horn-rimmed glasses stare around furtively and soft, gentle lighting is kind to everyone. The food in the restaurant is that of the bistro, with a few nods toward Nordic ingredients. We enjoy a well-seasoned steak tartare and a substantial smoked duck salad followed by rack of lamb and an impressive burger that is full of fat and burly flavour. The wine list is classic in tone, but also offers some interesting choices from ‘Natural’ and biodynamic wine makers. Foillard’s Morgan ‘Cote de Py’ 2010 shows well: crunchy red fruits balanced by its characteristic rustic, animal charms. We finish our evening, snuggled on a sofa, a large Ardbeg in hand, flicking through a thrillingly glossy book of 80s glamour girls – one of many Taschen publications thrown in artful piles around the dining room. It’s been a day to remember.
Morning comes bright and lovely across the harbour and floods our room in hopeful light. We have an early start and a long journey ahead. The sultry charms of last night’s restaurant are gone, and in their place waft wholesome aromas of freshly ground coffee, scrambled eggs and the rustle of morning papers. We indulge in smoked fish and cured meat, a hearty fortifying start – the weather’s holding out – this is no place for muesli.
There’s talk of more snow in London, of cancelled flights and delays. We slowly pack our things and make our way down to check out. One last drink? Why not – one to send us on our way. It’s back to the sofa, the papers are on the table; they’ve even got The Times – this is the perfect place to be. From our little cocoon in the bar at The Lydmar we pray that Ryanair might let us down, a cancellation never sounded so welcome. We can stay here and hide away, drink deep of smoky whiskies and settle in for the next round of fun.
The Lydmar, Södra Blasieholmshamnen 2 103 24 Stockholm, Sweden. Tel: +46 (0)822 3160. Website.
