There are two kinds of traveller. One has lists prepped weeks in advance, packing cubes and a printed itinerary. The other barrels into the airport with a clutch of clothes that probably aren’t weather-appropriate and a blind optimism about what awaits them. I am the second type.

Before I travelled around Scandinavia on a seven-day Eurail trip, my cultural touchpoints were largely Abba and Ikea, so I expected a lot of sequins and blond wood. After a week spent on the rails, I left with a deeper appreciation for the region and its way of life. Here’s what I learnt over seven days, starting in Oslo and continuing through Gothenburg, Stockholm, Malmo and Copenhagen.

In my day-to-day life I’m always in a rush. While it’s easy to fall into the trap of doing the same on holiday, running between different places to see as much as possible, Scandinavia really rewards those who slow down. This is, after all, the land of hygge, fika and sweating it out in the sauna – three activities defined by togetherness and living in the moment.

It’s also something I love about European train travel in general. Beyond the scenery and the convenience of getting to hop aboard without battling through passport control or justifying the volume of your toiletries to airport security, the Eurail pass offers flexibility.

As a disorganised traveller, that flexibility is handy. You can change your tickets on the app right up to the time of departure, so you have time to linger in an art gallery or sink another aquavit before getting back on the rails. You can also make time to stop at tiny towns with silvery lakes, steepled churches and colourful timber houses.

I was travelling with fashion photographer Liz Sunshine, who was snapping locals for an exhibition. I became fixated on the understated cool factor that defines Scandi dressing. We saw countless fashionable women wearing one-off pieces. I was struck by how often the women Liz approached were wearing vintage clothes and passed-down items. “Oh, where’s my coat from? My mother thrifted it in Gothenburg in the ’80s.”

Later, when I asked Liz how I could incorporate this sensibility into my own wardrobe, she said her idea of the Scandinavian cool girl is “a down-to-earth individual who cares as much about the people and the planet around her as the way she looks”.

She added: “If you’re trying to be more Scandi, the first thing to do would be to consume less. The general feeling is they shop less than Australian women but purchase better quality pieces that they then wear more.”

This eco-consciousness is stitched into the local market. Designers exhibiting at Copenhagen Fashion Week must meet sustainability standards, including using 60 per cent sustainable materials or deadstock, having recycling programs in place for unsold clothing, and ensuring pieces are durable enough to last for longer than a single season.

Beyond what they wear, a lot of Scandinavians factor the environment into their commute by riding a bike. I only rode once on the trip (more on that later), but felt pretty good about my mode of transport nonetheless. Train travel emits roughly 80 per cent less carbon per mile (1.6 kilometres) than air travel.

When it comes to Scandinavian cuisine, it pays to believe the hype. In all three countries I visited, food was taken incredibly seriously. From breakfast plates to smørrebrød (open-faced sandwiches) and the endless string of fine diners from Noma alumni, Scandinavian dining is world-renowned for a reason.

It wasn’t always this way. Until the early 2000s, the cuisine was largely dismissed as stodgy and unimaginative. That changed in 2004 when Noma co-founders René Redzepi and Claus Meyer, along with a group of chefs, farmers and politicians, came together to write a 10-point manifesto for New Nordic cuisine, which focuses on purity, seasonality and sustainability.

While the phrase “manifesto” might seem more cult than cafe, having a set of rules helps kitchens create with a clear vision in mind. One example of this is Brutalisten, a Michelin-recommended restaurant I visited in Stockholm. Brutalisten has its own dining manifesto. The main rule of the dogmatic kitchen is that ingredients must stand alone in each dish, and only water and salt may be added. One dish we ate was textures of potatoes, another was beef served in its own jus. The hard and fast rules force chefs to cook with intention and employ every technique in their toolkit to ensure dishes taste different from bite to bite. The results were sublime.

I only had a handful of days to get a feel for the region, so avoiding big, impersonal chain hotels was a no-brainer. And thankfully, the region is flush with boutique hotels with inventive design and a sense of history.

Oslo’s Sommerro House is an art deco dream in a former electrical commission building. The rooms are all warmly gilded with honey-coloured timber, vintage telephones and lush touches like Byredo toiletries. The attached restaurant, Ekspedisjonshallen, has a massive brutalist mural, plush booths and a jazz band that plays into the evenings.

In Stockholm, Ett Hem redefines luxury. The heart of the hotel is the restaurant’s open kitchen where you can eat alongside the chefs. Nearby, The Bank Hotel (in, you guessed it, a former bank) houses two exceptional hotel dining experiences.

In Copenhagen, Nimb Hotel sits dotted with colourful lights inside the Tivoli Gardens. Tivoli was the inspiration for Disneyland and from Nimb it’s mere steps from your hotel room to the park. It’s whimsical but never cheesy. Along with Ett Hem and The Bank Hotel, Nimb is a memeber of Small Luxury Hotels.

I’m from Sydney, so you know these are fighting words, but the seas and harbours in Scandinavia are some of the world’s best. I love a Sydney beach, but the second the mercury drops below balmy you won’t catch a Sydneysider in the water. I was travelling in spring. Allegedly. It snowed every other day but that didn’t stop the locals from diving in.

In Oslo, saunas sit like icebergs in the harbour. When I walked past on a particularly frigid day, I saw Speedo-clad people bounce between the floating saunas and icy harbour water. By the time we got to Malmo, a Swedish town that’s just a 40-minute train trip from Copenhagen, I’d worked up the courage to try it for myself at the Ribersborg Kallbadhus. Perched in the Baltic Sea, the “cold bathhouse” has symmetry that would make Wes Anderson weep with joy. The rules are traditional, and nudity is near-mandatory. Inside the bathhouse there’s a place to rent a towel and a change room where you strip down, rinse off and step into the sauna with its hot, dry heat. After you’ve sweated up a storm, you tiptoe outside to dunk your body in the near-freezing sea and “Wim Hof” your way through a wellness ritual.

Balance is not my strong suit and that’s never clearer to me than when I hop on a bike. And yet I’d gladly ride again with Cykelkokken, which provided dinner on our final night in Copenhagen. We were given a bike, plus a little satchel with a wineglass and a set of cutlery. We followed a chef (he had Michelin experience, naturally), riding a bike kitted out with a fridge and grill. And we stopped at various spots for a bite and a drink. The chef was supremely relaxed on his bike, stopping in the middle of busy bike lanes to stir a pot of mushrooms while a fluid stream of cyclists wove around the mobile kitchen. They weren’t in a rush – and neither were we.

The writer travelled as a guest of Eurail and Small Luxury Hotels. Eurail passes are 15% off until April 2, 2025.

www.eurail.com @eurail slh.com @smallluxuryhotels