World’s (third) Most Livable Country? [September 17]
(First published as a column in The Age newspaper)
Only third-best. That’s what the newspaper said. According to a UN report
Australia was only the third-best country on the planet in which to live.
Norway took the gold, Sweden took the silver, and we had to make do with
the bronze medal. I was mystified. Was there more crime in Australia? Did
Scandinavians enjoy each others company more than we did? Was real estate
cheaper? Did they produce better music? Or was it their flair for design?
The newspaper article offered no explanation, so I decided to investigate.
On the long flight north I tried to recall what I knew about these
far-away countries. Norway had fjords, herrings and the midnight sun.
Sweden had ABBA, IKEA and lots of blondes. I would blend right in.
The first place on my itinerary was a small Norwegian town called
Stavanger. Down at the harbour I hopped on a boat that was heading up a
fjord. On the way we passed dozens of little islands and on
each island there was a tiny rust-red house. I met a Norwegian man on the
boat called Tryggv and we talked for a while about the lack of vowels in
his name. I offered him one of mine because two only confuses people but
he graciously declined. Then he told me that practically everyone in his
country owns their own island cottage. When they get sick of their fellow
Norwegians they row out to their island and sit on
their front porch, drinking beer and enjoying the solitude.
Back at the Stavanger harbour I farewelled Tryggv and continued on my
journey. Further north I passed through a village called Hell. It was
surrounded by rolling green fields and clear blue lakes so I stopped
worrying about the afterlife.
In the town of Trondheim I met a man called Thor with an encyclopedic knowledge of Australian rock music between 1978 and 2004. So we drank vodka and he told me all about what Nick Cave, Steve Kilby, Mark Seymour, Peter Garrett, Renee Geyer, James Reyne and Jo Camilleri were doing with themselves these days. Thor has been known to fly all the way from the Arctic Circle to Oslo to hear visiting Australian bands. He works in primary schools, looking after Norwegian children with obsessive-compulsive disorders. Thor told me that his girlfriend thinks he has special insight into these children’s problems, what with his Aussie rock thing and all.
I said goodbye to Thor and headed for Sweden. First stop was a town called
Borlange. The world-famous Swedish tenor Jussi Bjorling was born there. A
big statue of Jussi dominates the central mall, his mouth wide open, frozen
in mid-aria. In the mall I met a man with thick spectacles called Ingemar
who told me that Borlange was the crime capital of Sweden. Someone was
kicked to death by a gang of youths a few years back, right under Jussi
Bjorling’s nose. Ingemar has a record store in the mall. He doesn’t sell
many of Jussi’s records but the kids who don’t want to join the local
gangs spend a lot of time hanging out in Ingemar’s store. He often sells
them CDs for less than he paid for them. His friends once dressed up the
Jussi Bjorling statue in one of Ingemar’s T-shirts. They put a pair of
thick spectacles on its face and a sash around its waist, with the word
‘Ingemar Rocks!’ written on the sash in big black letters. Ingemar’s
friends reckon he’s more important in Borlange these days than the
world-famous tenor ever was.
Last stop on my itinerary was Stockholm. At the hotel I was given a map of
the city. It was a miracle of modern design. It folded neatly together like
a piano accordion and for a while I just sat in my hotel room, opening and
closing it for the sheer pleasure of the experience. Finally I ventured out
to stroll the footpaths of Stockholm, admiring the many bicycles propped up
on their little metal stands. No locks, no chains, no security at all. I
met a blonde man called Lars who told me nobody steals bicycles in Sweden.
He gave me a dink on the back of his bike to a bar called Ostagagotan.
I could be here for some time.