Björn Ulvæus, singer, songwriter and member of ABBA once said:

“Stockholm is unique in that it is built on islands and surrounded by water, so you get this enormous sense of freedom.”

He’s right. The omnipotence of water gives the Scandinavian capital a sense of utter expansiveness. But — and this part is magic — Stockholm also manages to feel inexplicably intimate. Some of this is, again, due to geography. Those same waters form craggy, lengthy shorelines; an archipelago of unique islands covered with woods, pale sepia buildings, and smart cafes proposing Fika, the near-sacred Swedish tradition of grabbing coffee and something sweet with another person. A second part of the feeling of intimacy is generated by Stockholm’s thriving arts and culture scene. From the Noble Awards to Stockholm’s many museums, including the contemporary fotografiska, which hosts rotating exhibits, the proximity to the poignant retelling of human stories is something often reserved for the rarefied air of New York and Paris. But Stockholm has it too. And something about that makes the place feel personal.

I have no explanation for the third and last thing that made Stockholm feel intimate to me. It was probably dumb luck, random chance, the particular confluence of paths crossing, but I met a lot of people in Stockholm with whom I had strange connections. Remember that fotografiska museum? The marquee exhibit, which I went to on a whim, happened to be Memoria by James Nachtwey, a (if not the) war photographer of the past forty years, and a Dartmouth Grad, who I happened to have met when he was visiting our alma mater. I went to that museum with a friend I made from the Netherlands (where I had just been) who, as it turns out, had already been to a handful of the same spots as I had in Stockholm — she went to walk around, I went running. We both had been writing about our travels — the viewpoints were similar. Zipping across Gamla Stan and through Kristina Sofia on an e-scooter to meet her at a club we could not get into was one of my favorite memories as was going to that museum. It was open until 23:00, or “sunset,” and the view from the rooftop bar was sublime.

I also happened to meet a friend while running. I had barely begun to jog when a man came up to me and asked me if I was a runner. He said:

“Hey, are you a runner?”

“Yes,” I said, “are you?”

“Yes.”

And so we ran together. It was his first day in Stockholm and my second. I showed him around. It turned out his father went to Dartmouth, he went to the high school of a good friend of mine and lived in DC, where I would be moving in August. We met up later for dinner and to go to Tradgarden, which we did not get into. This was my first time not getting into Tradgarden. The second was with the girl from the Netherlands.

I also did quite a few runs by myself, often wearing a plain white dry-wicking t-shirt that said “DARTMOUTH” across the back in green letters. I made friends with three Brits because of this. They were quite nice, although I occasionally had trouble understanding their entirely correct dialect of English.

One day, I took the 401 bus from Slussen to Hellasgården, nature preserve, about 5 km outside the city. I ran about 20km and then swam across the lake to an island and back. I came across an outdoor gym as well and lifted some (*actual*) logs with the locals, before shivering like crazy waiting for the return bus (the sauna, it turned out, wasn’t open). I also enjoyed running around Djurgarden, the king’s former gardens, which combined the best of manicured paths, park benches, hobby joggers, and young picnicking lovers with ocean views, ocean air. On my last day, I did a 28km long run through Djurgardenall the way to Djurgårdsbrunn, which meant the trail became more forested, less traversed, and overall increasingly scenic. I was struck by a moment of deja vu upon dashing down the path along the rim of a large inlet: Stockholm, in some ways, reminded me of all my favorite parts of Hanover, NH. The accessibility to foot travel, the coniferous trees, the fresh air, the outdoorsy-ness of the place: In particular, this trail reminded me of Pine Park, which, for those who haven’t been, is a magnificent stretch of old-growth pine forest along the Connecticut River that conjures special sentimentality and has a golden hour that lasts longer than most.

I don’t have a way to wrap my time in Stockholm into a neat bow — in part that is because I am already in Dubrovnik, and am sorely in need of a bit of sleep. Solar omnipresence and living 16-persons-to-a-room have reeked a bit of havoc on my circadian cycle. But, and I don’t want this to be lost, Stockholm feels like an exceptional place — and that’s without even getting into the deliciousness of Cardamon buns, the abundance of smoked salmon dishes, or the peculiar popularity of upscale 7/11s. It’s a place everyone should visit in the summer. It’s a model city: Built on a delta, home to over a million people without compromising its natural beauty or freshness. I will be back.