On the trail of a handsome pine

After hearing tales of Sweden’s superior Christmas trees, Ed Wiseman hopped in a Volvo V90 to see them for himself – and bring one home

Ed is a small village in Sweden at the southern end of Stora Le, a lake 50 miles long that stretches into Norway. It’s somewhere I have wanted to visit for many years but its location – more than 1,000 miles from London by road – makes it a difficult expedition to justify. Today, however, I’m already in west Sweden, and I’m not going to miss this chance.

We’re in the area to pick up a Christmas tree on the advice of Volvo and the Swedish tourist board, both of which assure us that the Christmas trees in Sweden are far superior to those found at garden centres and lay-bys across the United Kingdom at this time of year. It’s taken us a few days to get here, including a fantastic stop in Malmo, so my long-suffering girlfriend and I are ready for a hotel. But the importance of our mission (nay, pilgrimage) is impossible to overstate, so we press on.

Sweden’s patchwork of pine and birch becomes increasingly coniferous as we head north, the temperature dropping every 30 miles or so. The drizzle turns to rain, which turns to sleet; while we’ve missed the bulk of the snowfall, driving conditions are treacherous, but we’re safely ensconced in a Volvo V90 D4 Inscription Pro.

Ed turns out to be pretty much my spiritual home with a moose sanctuary and a motor museum (what are the chances?) and apparently a monster truck race in summer. It has a very outof-season feel this evening though, so we buy some coffee before moving on.

Sweden takes its Christmas lights seriously. Almost every apartment window displays an adventsljusstakar, a little arrow-shaped arch of dim bulbs, while larger houses and farms in the countryside are comprehensively lit in bright white. The illuminations bring warmth to this cold, dark landscape.

Uncertain what to expect from this part of Sweden at this time of year, we approach our first destination with some trepidation; the Skagerrak, 18,000 square miles of chilly waters between the North and Baltic seas, flows into and around the 8,000 or so islands of west Sweden, some just a few yards from the mainland.

Villa Sjötorp is a flawless singularity of Swedish just-rightness, overlooking a fractured and windswept coastline. Its delicate wooden form belies a sturdy, cosy interior, an antidote to the more modern style of Scandinavian hotels. Fourteen impeccably traditional rooms surround a central staircase, which leads down to the gentle sounds and smells of Swedish suppertime.

We’re here for a traditional julbord, a buffet-style medley of fish and meat. Most of its constituent dishes are cold (many reflecting the area’s obsession with herring) but others are warm and festive. Dark beers are a delicious accompaniment to the five-course meal – this isn’t exactly wine country, but Villa Sjötorp also has a sensational cellar.

One dish I have longed to try is lutfisk. Swedish friends have told me it’s revolting, and I’ll admit to being slightly alarmed when it arrives with its own set of cheap knives and forks in place of the silverware. Apparently this lye-based preparation of fish is so alkaline that it will permanently tarnish any cutlery it comes into contact with. Despite the formidable reputation, it’s actually delicious and I find myself going for seconds.

Long nights and short days make mornings in Sweden difficult to get used to; a slight brightening of the overcast sky indicates that the sun has risen. It’s a short drive to the Christmas tree farm, where we spot a couple of families, clad in warm clothes and Santa hats, merrily stomping off into the endless expanse of pine and fir.

A friendly farmer gestures towards a saw, then points towards his forest. Worried I’ll pick the wrong tree and expose myself as an out-of-towner, I agonise over nearly every sprig and branch before finally settling on a handsome fir, which we chop down (a rewarding process) and drag to the car.

Once that task’s completed, we’re invited to a barn for fika. This is essentially a coffee break, though the locals insist it means more than that, with cultural connotations implying an almost meditative period of rest. In a sense it’s the equivalent of the English “cuppa”. It’s a welcome preparation for the drive south to Gothenburg, which takes much longer than it would with an empty roof rack.

Liseberg is a leisure park south-east of the centre of Gothenburg. Founded in the Twenties, it still looks and feels like an oldschool fairground, but with modern

I CAME, I SAWED… Ed Wiseman carries his chosen Christmas tree back to the Volvo V90