Destination: Sweden : A Midsummer Day’s Dream : Dances with Swedes in the heart of ‘folklore country’

It was a belligerent sunset. We’d been driving north, my wife and I, through the green farmlands of central Sweden, and for hours the sun had clung tenaciously to the horizon like a child refusing to go to bed.

Stockholm, with its Royal Palace, its water taxis and its medieval Gamla Stan (Old Town) was already two hours behind us. Ahead lay Dalarna--described by Swedes and guidebooks alike as “The Heart of Sweden” and “The Folklore Capital of the Country.” We were looking for authentic Midsummer festivities, so these were inviting descriptions, to be sure. But vague. Would we be welcomed by farmers in wooden shoes singing harvest songs? Would the fields be filled with flaxen-haired maidens picking special husband-catching flowers--as a misty-eyed reveler in a Stockholm tavern informed us they would be?

We drove on, both of us silently imagining what a traditional festival celebrating the longest day of the year would really offer. Then, suddenly, just after midnight, with the car still speeding northward, the sun finally slipped below the horizon. But sunset gave way to sunrise so swiftly I could hardly tell when one began and the other ended.

Less a capital than a region, Dalarna is a collection of small towns and villages that hug cat-shaped Lake Siljan and comprise an area dubbed the Siljan Ring. According to legend, the lake was created by a massive meteorite. Whether such a falling rock actually formed the lake is not disputed among Dalarnians. What is, however, is which of the half a dozen towns along the Ring offer the best and most authentic Midsummer festival experience each June.

One contender is the village of Rattvik, which also hosts an international festival of folk dancers each July. As they have for centuries, long Viking-inspired “church boats” return year after year, filled with Swedes from neighboring villages coming to celebrate the Midsummer in Rattvik’s magnificent 13th century church. This celebration promises--at the very least--high drama. Every few years, it seems, a group of celebrants gets caught in rough waters and finds themselves mid-lake minus their boat.

Another festival challenger is Leksand, largest of the Ring towns. Located on the southern tip of the lake, Leksand has one of the region’s oldest museums, a sprawling cultural center, and what many warned us would be a throng of blond-haired, red-nosed party-goers who never miss either a festival or a happy hour. During another traditional Dalarnian summer bash--the Spelmansstammor (or folk music festival)--it’s not uncommon to see dozens of frenetic fiddlers leading a drunken horde of Leksanders through the streets, like merry Pied Pipers.

Choosing safety and solitude over theatrics and mayhem, we decided on Tallberg. We’d heard that the tiny village with its year-round population of 220 was the quaintest and most authentic of the towns in the region. A brochure showing cartoon vacationers enjoying a horse-drawn sled, a game of tennis, windsurfing and other Dalarna activities was all the hard evidence we had to go on.

Still, we felt certain that Tallberg’s location--it’s almost directly between Leksand and Rattvik--would help us maximize our festival opportunities. What was uncertain, however, was our accommodations. We had booked at the last moment and knew little more about our hotel than its name: Klockargarden.

When we finally did locate our lodgings--after getting lost twice--it was already 2 a.m.. We were tired, but felt strangely guilty for being so as the sun was already high in the sky. Our guilt, however, was quickly displaced by anxiety. There before us was an assembly of old timber huts with fresh straw lining the ground. This was far more authenticity than either of us had had in mind.

Just before panicking we realized that we were, in fact, lost a third time. We had approached the hotel from behind and had happened upon a few bungalows decked out for the festival to look like 18th and 19th century weaving huts--which is, in fact, what they were before they were converted into cottages (and filled with 20th century amenities) in 1959.

Later that morning (after five hours of sleeping with towels covering our eyes) we awoke to festival day. It began with a greeting from our host, Klockar-Per Sandberg, who was wearing knee socks, beige knickers, an ornate waistcoat and a giant smile. As with every Swede we came across, be it city shopkeepers or rural farmers, he spoke English. We thanked him for leaving the room key out and a sign pointing to our cottage. He thanked us for not waking him. It seems he was counting on having a lot of energy for the coming events, which he informed us would include the blowing of a traditional birch horn to inaugurate the festivities, an elaborate dance featuring his family and fellow villagers, and--the coup de gra^ce!--the raising of the maypole.

This last point was one of particular pride to him, and he began to tell us about the significance of the Maypole, which at that moment was being decked with garlands and vines by women in colorful waistcoats of their own. “The pole features a huge heart that represents family,” he explained, “and two rings that stand for unity.” Yes, we thought, but why is it called a “maypole” if this is June? “Because the Swedish word maja means to adorn with leaves,” he said. “And Maj means May. So it just makes sense!”

He took our smiles for agreement and moved on to the next point on the maypole agenda: “After we raise it later tonight, it will remain standing and decorated until the next Midsummer.”

The more we drove the more we realized how unspoiled the region was. The sparsely populated countryside, with its steep, tree-lined hills that dove quickly into mirrored lakes, reminded us a little of the Pacific Northwest, though on a more inviting scale. The architecture outside the bigger towns was basic one-story timber. All were painted--as they are throughout Sweden--a uniform dark red (Falun red, to be exact--a residue from the copper mines of the nearby town of Falun, which is mixed into the paint.)

*

Our first stop on the festival trail came by accident. We were heading around the lake to the Zorn Museum in the town of Mora (home to the works of one of Sweden’s best-known artists, Anders Zorn), with a planned stop in the small town of Nusnas, when, in typical fashion, we got lost. Nusnas is the leading producer of Dalarna’s world-famous wood-carved horses--tiny and ornate equine wonders that have become something of an unofficial national symbol.

With $30 worth of “horse money” set aside, we pulled up to a small sign informing us that we had just entered--not Nusnas--but the village of Laknas. (Can a group of four houses be called a village?) We were about to turn around and drive off when a family of eight, dressed in their herbal finest, came to our rescue. Though, judging by their enthusiasm to see us, one would think we had come to rescue them.

“You must eat dinner with us this evening and then sleep in our house!” cried out Gunnar to the delight of his three children, his sister, his brother-in-law and a rabbit-hunting hound named Finsk. Being typical paranoid Americans, we snapped into action--we locked the car doors! Gunnar, sensing our concern, hurried off to get a peace offering. He returned with a bottle of Jagermeister. We turned off the engine and came out.

It wasn’t long before the conversation turned to maypole raising. “See, you have the pole,” Gunnar began, “and then you’ve got those two rings below it.” He stopped and smiled. His sister, Mia, was blushing. Suddenly, it hit us: The maypole was an ancient symbol of fertility. Klockar-Per’s explanation was the cleaned-up tourist version. After a good laugh, Gunnar and the gang pressed their offer of that evening’s dinner: a meal of fresh seal. Turning slightly green, my wife promised we’d get back to them.

Armed now with the straight dope on maypoles, we headed back toward Tallberg for our first pole raising. The Hotel Dalecarlia, we were told, did one of the better ones. On the grounds, dozens of men in waistcoats and knickers had taken their positions alongside a giant (and, yes, double-ringed) pole. Then, following a barrage of frenetic fiddle playing, the raising began. The entire ceremony was performed in Swedish and clearly wasn’t presented for the sake of tourists. The Swedes in the audience echoed the cries of the pole raisers, as if they were words to a popular song. Though the intricacies of the ceremony were lost on the rest of us, we were caught up in the drama: shouts in unison, and then a struggle against gravity to move the pole a few more feet toward perpendicular. The process was repeated over and over to “oohs” and “aahs” before, at last, the maypole was planted upright for another year.

That’s when the dancing began. Men in knickers bounded around while women in long skirts followed. From atop the maypole, the dancers probably looked like a group of happy Hobbits. But from down among them, things were a bit rougher. While the Swedes were all pirouetting in perfect unison, the rest of us were bouncing off each other in a well-meaning, but utterly pathetic attempt at Nordic rhythm.

During one number, which we called the “Ha-Ha-Ha, No-No-No” song after the only syllables we could discern, I found myself at the front end of what looked like a giant line dance. Baffled as to what to do, I froze. All at once, a hundred voices cried out something that could only have been Swedish for “Lead, or get out of the way!” I got out of the way.

Battered but not broken, we headed for the Leksand version of the maypole jitterbug. Though we’d expected a crowd, what we found there was staggering: Twenty-thousand plus had gathered before a swelling orchestra of violins, which were being piped over a sound system that Ted Nugent would have envied. A fiberglass maypole--so big that it looked like it belonged on a foul line in Dodger Stadium--stood center stage. And hoops of “unity” . . . well, let’s just say this was a very fertile pole. Finally, after nearly an hour of ebullient heave-hos, Leksand, too, had appeased the gods of summer.

*

It was already late in the day (but still as bright as ever) when we returned to Klockargarden. By now we’d become maypole junkies and were hoping to get one more fix of pole raising and dancing. We found Klockar-Per Sandberg in a clearing between a few cottages. No tour buses or orchestras would bear witness to his ceremony. Just a smattering of friends, relatives and guests.

It mattered little now that Klockar-Per’s translation for the English-speaking tourists was filled with misleading G-rated details. The real meaning of the Midsummer Festival, as far as we were concerned, could be found in the cheerful costumes and in the serious manner in which the Swedes made certain everyone within immediate earshot--be they neighbor or tourist--felt truly alive on this the longest day of the year.

Afterward, with yet another pole in position, we set out for Laknas. And, lo and behold, while driving along, we saw them: flaxen-haired maidens gathering flowers in a field! Maybe they’d get their husbands tonight, maybe not. We no longer cared. We were tired, and there was still a serious dinner of seal to be eaten.

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GUIDEBOOK: Journey to the Midsummer Pole

Getting there: Lufthansa, KLM, American, Northwest, Air France and British Air offer one-stop, connecting service to Stockholm from LAX, starting at $1,004 round trip, advance ticket purchase.

Getting around: The Dalarna region is 150 miles from Stockholm. Some U.S. companies that can make car arrangements: Eurodollar Rent-A-Car, telephone (800) 800-6000; Auto Europe (800) 223-5555; Hertz (800) 654-3001; National (800) CAR-RENT; Thrifty Rent-A-Car (800) 367-2277.

Train reservations, Stockholm to Dalarna: Swedish State Railways, local tel. 46-8-696-7509. Or book through U.S. companies: RailEurope (800) 848-7245; DER Travel Services (708) 692-6300; Jason Travel (800) 388-9130.

Where to stay: The Klockargarden; Siljansee, 79370, Tallberg; $105 per person, double occupancy, includes breakfast and dinner; tel. 011-46-247-502-60. The Hotel Delacarlia; Siljansee, 79370, Tallberg; famous for its old Swedish atmosphere; $73 per person, double occupancy, includes breakfast; tel. 011-46-247-891-00.

Tours: Many companies have packages that include Dalarna. Borton Overseas ([800] 843-0602) offers various trips that begin in Stockholm and can include a train ride from Stockholm to Dalarna. About $150 per person per day, including hotels, rental car and breakfast.

For more information: Scandinavian Tourist Boards, P.O. Box 4649, Grand Central Station, New York, NY 10163; tel. (800) 346-4636.

--K.B.