It’s starting to get dark earlier now in Sweden; the sun slips away quietly in the late afternoon, and the sky fades to that silvery blue that feels like dusk and night at the same time. I’ve started lighting candles around five, and by six it feels like midnight. Still, there’s something beautiful about it. Somehow, even with the sun disappearing earlier each day, it feels brighter than some of the so-called “sunny” days I remember back in the States. Maybe it’s the glow of windows lit from within; maybe it’s how Swedes have mastered the art of coziness when the world goes dim.
Here are five things I’m loving about November right now:
- Julmust is back. The shelves are finally lined with Sweden’s most beloved holiday drink; a sweet, malty, slightly spicy soda that outsells Coca-Cola every single year. It’s everywhere, from grocery stores to tiny kiosks, and the first sip tastes like the official start of the season. I always buy too much, and I never regret it.
- Pepparkakor everything. Those thin, gingery cookies are one of Sweden’s small miracles. They show up on shelves as soon as the air cools, and by November they’ve taken over. My current obsession? Göteborgs vit choklad pepparkakor balls; white chocolate meets gingerbread in a way that makes you believe in holiday magic.
- Jul lights appearing everywhere. Walk through any neighborhood and you’ll see it; soft glowing stars in windows, balcony strands twinkling against the night, candles flickering in every café. It’s subtle, never garish; like the whole country agrees to fight the darkness together with small points of light.
- Crisp fall air (when it’s not raining). The air has that clean, metallic edge now; you can almost taste the cold. On clear days, walking through the forest feels electric; leaves crunching underfoot, your breath a small cloud. Even the crows sound sharper.
- Cozy movie nights. Blankets, candles, my husband, and our two black cats, Morticia and Wednesday, turn every dark evening into a cocoon. We’ve been making our way through old favorites and bad horror movies; anything that pairs well with snacks and a sleepy cat on your lap.
Last night, I added something new to the list: introducing my husband to my grandmother’s Southern Alabama chicken and dumplings. The smell filled our apartment; flour, broth, and slow-simmered comfort. For a moment, I was back in my grandmother’s kitchen, standing on tiptoe to see over the counter, watching her roll out dough while the windows steamed from the heat. It’s amazing how one meal can open a doorway across time and distance. I hadn’t realized how much I missed that sound; the quiet bubbling of a pot that means someone you love is cooking for you.
Living here has taught me that November doesn’t have to be gloomy. It’s a gentle prelude to Jul; the darkest month of all, yet somehow the most full of light. It’s the season of quiet joy; of candles and steaming mugs; of remembering who we are and where we came from.
What traditions does your family have in November?
Swedish Wanderlust 