Our arrival couldn’t have been more rom-com worthy, either. I’d emailed the info address to let the owners know we were arriving soon but hadn’t heard anything back. Little did I know there would be no reception or sense of formality here; it’s more like pulling up to a friend’s house for dinner. Tentatively pushing open the huge front door, I was reminded of the scene in Beauty and the Beast, when Belle finds her way into the castle, marvelling at the antiques and staircase by candlelight. Stepping inside at Hoby Kulle Herrgard, I too was met with quietness and a candelabra of festive, red candles flickering at the bottom of a wreath-strewn bannister. Again, we looked at each other; no desk, no porter, we assumed we should go upstairs where we could hear voices and music – it sounded like a party.
Suddenly, a head popped out from behind a doorway. “Hello!” shouted Tove, one half of the couple who own Hoby Kulle Herrgard. Delighted, she whisked us upstairs, excitedly telling other guests that our arrival had looked like a film scene: “English voices, sweet outfits and snow outside! They’re like a Christmas movie!” We quickly realised why no one had replied to our polite email, informing the ‘team’ of our upcoming arrival. The main floor of the house was buzzing with locals; young, old, families, couples, toddlers legging it around the bottom of Christmas trees. It was like walking into a postcard of a Swedish Christmas. Ribbons hung from walls, bowls of studded clementines decorated window sills, and a glittering tree stood in the corner. We also quickly realised it was opening night, everyone was halfway through dinner, and we were the only non-Swedes there. Laughing, Tove and her partner Benjamin invited us to get involved. We pulled up a chair, made small talk with the townsfolk, and got stuck into a classic julboard. Within minutes, Benjamin had thrust a glass of wine into our hands.