I Now Know How Swedes Roll

Are you Swedish? Yes, how'd you know?

Alright, so here’s my story from less than 24 hours of being in the confines of Sweden. I’ve basically already figured the whole place out and I’ve seen virtually nothing so far. Truth is that I couldn’t find an exchange place anywhere near where the ships dock to let you off, so I hoofed it through the city (a solid 4 miles or more) carrying my computer bag and rolling my big, but not as motherfucking as it was at the start, bag. It’s about 42 pounds now, not 49.7.

Anyway, I see a lot of the city as I trek across, and I notice something immediately. It’s super safe. Like possibly the safest city in the world safe. I look like an obvious tourist, and people are friendly and point me in the right direction. Including the group of six teenagers that look like they’d be down for a row.

So, I finally get through to my hostel. This is where I learn two more things about Sweden. The two most important things about Sweden.

Sex. And more sex.

As I check-in, I’m about 2 hours and 15 minutes early for check-in and the rooms aren’t done. So the front desk guy says I should put my bags in storage and just hang out in the common room. I oblige.

Now before I get into this story, let me first remind you that my one-night-stand cruise from Tallinn to Stockholm offered free porn from midnight-6 am. Because, apparently, Swedes are all about the sex.

So I am sitting there and there are people from all around — just observing I see Asians, Australians, South Africans, a guy from Porto and a couple of girls and whatnot from Germany, Holland and Switzerland. Then I catch my first glimpse of what was about to take place. As the cleaning lady is going through the one room, she accidentally opens up the wrong cabin and there is a three camera set-up on tripods looking at a bed. Yeah, because that is normal and all. So I’m sitting there thinking, f’real? At a hostel?

People start to get to talking and I break the ice. I ask the guy from Porto where he’s from, “Porto.” I’m like — “Oh! Jose Mourinho and Andre Villas-Boas! Of course.” He immediately asks if I’m from Britain. I say that I’m not but that I’m from America. And just like that, everybody starts rapid-firing questions. I’m pretty much the life of the party at this point. If they only knew that my town is as insignificant as any town in the world, but apparently it is a big deal in Europe.

Then comes the two workers at the hostel and three Swedish girls. They sit down and we’re all chatting, and they ask if I’m from America. I say that I am… and wouldn’t you know, Swedish girls have a soft spot for American and British guys. I don’t know what it is but for some reason they just love guys from America. And I’m a guy from America. With a room to myself. Dangerous. Oh, and yeah, they are openly talking about sex. I mention the porn cruise and they say that its normal. Sex in Sweden is basically like putting on your shoes and tying your laces, apparently.

Now the girls weren’t that great, fairly average to be honest, but they had planted the seed for me. And I have only met a few people at this point. Plus some people were moving on and others were coming in that day. So that night, I ask the front desk girls where I can exchange money, find a supermarket and the best bar close by. The girl tells me and I’m on my way.

I exchange money and then go straight to the grocery store. Activia, Oreos and water. Because if all else fails, you can live on that. I return to the hostel and stock up my fridge. Then I ask if anybody wants to go out for a drink. FC Porto is game but everybody else is kinda like poor or something, so they don’t have money. Fine, suit yourselves. So Porto and I go out. This is good because he’s a fat, half-balding guy in his 40s. Always smart to have a wingman that can speak other languages and who is not nearly as put together. As we are leaving there is another guy at reception and we ask about that bar, and he tags along. He’s from Sweden. Sweet, We’ve got it all figured out basically.

So we go to this bar called Cloud Nine. It really wasn’t but it was OK. And it was a Monday night so I wasn’t expecting much from it. So we’re in the bar and there are a pocket of girls that are just kind of routinely looking bored. So the Swedish guy just walks up to them and starts talking. Within three minutes, everybody is openly talking about sex. Including Porto, which is vomit-in-my-mouth type visions. He’s been here for a few days so he knows what is up. I am a bit more reserved but then I get asked directly about myself. I speak.


Oh dear. Seven girls, all suddenly interested without me saying anything except opening my mouth.

Now Swedish girls, I’ve come to learn, are very open about sex. They are also pretty direct. It is awkward at first but then it is pretty natural. So, long story short, we chat for the next three hours and then I politely retreat back to the hostel because I’m beat from the traveling and the early hours and whatnot. Two girls want to come with me. But I politely decline because I really am beat. They are visibly disappointed. I can’t really blame them but still, I’m tired.

So I walk back to the hostel alone and see that the common room is lively, as is the kitchen. I make a beeline for my bedroom and as I’m punching in the code, the girl from earlier in the day is like “sleep so soon?” I tell her that I’m tired from all of the traveling and that I can’t keep my eyes open. She says, and I quote, “darn, I wanted sex.” Which, I think, means that she wanted it with me. Not sure.

So, believe it or not, I turned down three open offers for sex on the first day in Stockholm. Now had I not been so stupid as to take that horrible cruise and be in town the day before, fresh off of a flight and recharged with a good night’s sleep, I’d be totally Swede. But I cockblocked myself.

I wake up this morning at 8 am local time. After checking email, I attempt to go grab a shower and think that nobody would be up. Wrong. The entire place is up — including Porto… and he’s chatting with one of the girl’s from last night. So I guess he got laid. Good for him. Sad for her.

Anyway — I am feeling gross so I go to take a shower. The showers are all full and I figure that it is going to be a difficult situation. But then I find the one shower stall way at the end that is open. But, of course, the door doesn’t lock. Whatever. I’m using it.

I get naked, and I’m in there — and there really is no privacy — its just a room that is a shower and the door lock doesn’t work. I’m there for two minutes, buck-ass naked and then a girl walks in. Enough to put her stuff on the chair and towel on the hanger. I finally say to her, “Excuse me, but unless you want to go in tandem, you’ll have to wait a little bit.”

She looks up, and doesn’t say anything. I’m like “English?” She’s like, “Yes. Very much so.” I start laughing and I’m like, what? Then we have a conversation while I’m buck naked and she’s just sitting there talking. Now girls have done this with me before so it isn’t anything new, and I’m cool with my body so I’m not weird about it. She’s the girl from South Africa. After about a minute she excuses herself and then returns to the common room.

I resume showering. Within another two minutes, the Swedish guy from the night before shows up. I tell him that I’ll be done in about a minute but that a girl was in here earlier so she should probably have the shower next.

I finish, dry off and head back to the common room. I tell Vuvuzela that she can use the shower now, and if she’d prefer, I’ll block the door so nobody can get in. She agrees.

She showers and then I go back to my room to change. I hop on one of the iMac computers in the common room and start to check my Fantasy team. Obviously with Matt Stafford, Arian Foster, Ray Rice and the Chicago Bears defense, I won yet again. I’m 5-1 on the year, and my only loss came on week 1 because half my team was hurt or in contract disputes and Matt Ryan was piss. Since then I’ve averaged 126 points per week.

But the door with the three tripod cameras opens up and out steps Swedish guy. Now for some reason, it didn’t even phase me. But when I finish up on the computer I go and sit down with him to find out how the night went. I see that Porto had a good night, how about you, what did you guys end up doing?

So he pulls me aside and finally tells me the following, verbatim: “Look, here’s the deal… I work in erotica. I’m a producer. I shoot scenes all of the time. I’ll pay you 5000 SEK to shoot a scene with one of the girls here at the hostel. Or any girls from the bar. You’re call.”

Now 6000 SEK is about $900. That is nothing to sneeze at. But, I am not hardpressed for money so I tell him that I’ll think about it. Which means no, but gets somebody off of your back. And truthfully, if I did do it, which isn’t the case because I’m not doing it, it would only be for the story.

I really, REALLY hope that Porto wasn’t filmed with this girl. But somehow, I know it totally happened.

Sweden: it’s horny.

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