Snus

In the spacious, stylish corridors of the Swedish company headquarters, where minimalist design was combined with traditional Nordic décor, an imposing figure moved with the confidence of an old Viking. Kalle, a man of stately stature with a voice that vibrated intensely and resonantly through the air, inevitably attracted attention. When we first met, I had felt a vague unease - something about his aura made me cautious. But over time, as fate made him one of my superiors, this unease was replaced by a surprising loyalty. Kalle seemed like a rock in the surf, holding his hand protectively over me, and for a long time, he became a key to my survival in the complex world of the Swedish company.

But Kalle was with pitfalls. His otherwise level-headed demeanor was clouded by a simmering conflict with a foreign managing director assigned to my division. Their feud escalated into hate-filled email battles in which Kalle displayed an openness and directness that was anything but typically Swedish.

Kalle was a man of pleasure whose affection for alcohol was unmistakable. But another passion accompanied him every day and constantly alienated me - his chewing tobacco. That dark, sticky something that he pushed under his upper lip with an almost ceremonial gesture was a mystery to me initially. Chewing tobacco seemed to be expected in Sweden, a habit shared by men and women alike, with the dark lump sometimes visible when a laugh lifted the lips. But it was the way they handled it that disturbed me deeply.

It wasn't just the black stains that occasionally stained the teeth of the chewing tobacco connoisseurs; the act of removing them filled me with disgust. They took the soaked tobacco out of their mouths and put it back in the tin for later as if it were the most natural thing in the world. But Kalle's ritual continued and was the thing that turned my stomach. During the monotonous (in this case, much smaller) meetings, which were endlessly filled with irrelevant chit-chat, he would often get up suddenly, walk to the nearest wastepaper basket, and dispose of the tobacco saliva with a precision that sent long, buzzing threads of saliva flying through the air.

These acts of spitting, which made me shudder to my core every time, seemed completely normal in Sweden. In a room characterized by the silence of boredom and the rigidity of business, Kalle managed to create an atmosphere utterly alien to me with his bizarre tobacco ritual. I sat there, caught between my horror and the fascination of the abomination, unable to avert my gaze, wondering if I was the only one who recognized the absurdity of this situation.

As I watched Kalle perform his ritual, my eyes wandered around the room, searching for an ally, someone who shared my irritation. But I saw nothing but indifferent faces, for whom Kalle's actions seemed as commonplace as the clock ticking on the wall.

The Swedish colleagues around me continued their conversations, some leaning back in their chairs, others nodding in agreement to what was being said, and still others engrossed in their laptops. No one seemed to take offense at what was happening before our eyes. Was this the norm here? A habit so ingrained in the culture that it had become invisible to the locals?

I felt isolated in my reaction as if my disgust and astonishment spoke a language no one else understood. It was as if I had crossed an invisible line between what I perceived as usual and a world where different rules applied, a world where chewing tobacco and its associated ritual was accepted and completely normal.

The sight of spitting into the wastepaper basket, which seemed to repeat itself in a seemingly endless loop, became a symbol of the cultural abyss that separated me from my colleagues. I tried to read something in their faces, a sign of discomfort or rejection, but I found a reassuring normality that marked their features. They were so familiar with the scene that they hardly glanced at it.

Chewing tobacco, or "snus" as it is known in Sweden, is more than just a type of tobacco; it is a cultural phenomenon that has shaped Swedish society and goes far beyond the boundaries of a simple stimulant. Snus is a moist, ground tobacco traditionally placed in small pouches under the upper lip, releasing juices.

In Sweden, snus consumption has a long history dating back to the 18th century. Swedes often regard snus as an integral part of their identity, a tradition passed down from generation to generation. It is not uncommon to see people from all walks of life in Sweden with a discreet bulge under their upper lip - a silent sign of the hidden presence of snus.

The social acceptance of snus in Sweden stands in contrast to many other countries where public tobacco use is increasingly restricted. Snus remains a part of everyday life in Sweden. In Swedish society, where the image of a healthy, sporty, and nature-loving life is upheld, snus forms an interesting dichotomy. On the one hand, it is a piece of traditional heritage; on the other, it contrasts the healthy lifestyle often attributed to Sweden internationally.

If you're intrigued by my entertaining account of spending a decade in Sweden and want to delve deeper into my experiences, please click the link to discover more about my book.

Book "Ten Years in Sweden"