Picture this: it’s late June, the light is that soft golden color that makes everyone look better, fields are exploding with wildflowers, and literally everybody leaves the cities. Stockholm becomes a ghost town, everyone heads to red farmhouses by a lake, and the party starts.

The maypole (or midsommarstång if you wanna sound local) is the star. It’s this massive wooden cross wrapped in birch leaves and flowers, two rings hanging off the sides. Raising it is a group effort, lots of shouting, laughing, someone always drops a wreath and pretends it wasn’t them. Once it’s up, the dancing begins. And no, it’s not elegant ballroom stuff. It’s “Little Frogs” (Små grodorna), where grown adults hop around the pole pretending to be frogs, no shoes, flower crowns slipping over eyes, singing about lacking ears and tails. Sounds ridiculous? It is. And it’s perfect.

Flower crowns are mandatory, guys too. Tradition says girls should pick seven different flowers (or nine if you’re in Dalarna and feeling extra) and put them under the pillow to dream about your future partner. Half the fun is running through meadows looking for the right ones, buttercups, daisies, clover, whatever smells good.

Food is another level. Long tables outside, white tablecloths flapping in the breeze. First round: every kind of pickled herring you can imagine (mustard, onion, dill, glassblower’s herring, what even is that). Then new potatoes boiled with dill, chives on top, sour cream, fresh strawberries that taste like candy. Grilled meat, cheese, crispbread, and way too much schnapps. Every shot comes with a song, you have to look everyone in the eyes or it’s seven years bad sex (that’s the rule, don’t ask me).

Then the night just… doesn’t end. At this latitude the sun dips for maybe an hour around midnight, sky stays pink and purple, nobody wants to sleep. Someone starts the accordion, more frog dancing, kids still running wild at 2 am covered in strawberry juice.

It’s not just a party, it’s like Sweden lets its hair down once a year. Normally reserved people suddenly hug strangers, sing at the top of their lungs, dance barefoot in the grass. And the best part? Everyone is invited. Got a friend with a little red house by a lake? You’re in. No invitation needed, just bring a cake and a bottle.

Wanna feel it for real? Come join our Swedish Midsummer in the Countryside trip, we do the whole thing properly in Dalarna, flower picking, maypole chaos, herring coma, the works. By the end you’ll be hopping around the pole like you were born doing it, guaranteed.

Happy Midsummer, whenever the sun refuses to leave the sky, that’s where you’ll find the Swedes.